Worlds Apart
by Sybl Angelkat
Summary: Immediately after Esmeralda is sentenced to death, Claude Frollo has difficulty dealing with the consequences of the things he’s done. Others would help him if he'll let them. 1982 movieverse. It is now a multi-chapter story for sure.
1. Chapter 1

Worlds Apart

A/N: This is a one-shot for now, but I can always add more to it if people want. This is not the Disney version; it is set in the 1982 TV film version with Derek Jacobi as Claude Frollo. Jacques is my own invention; the rest belongs to Victor Hugo and whoever wrote the scripts…ect…Anyway…I tweaked Esmeralda to be more gypsy-like in my mind.

Ratings: T

Summary: Immediately after Esmeralda is sentenced to death, Claude Frollo has difficulty dealing with the consequences of the things he's done. Fortunately, there are people out there willing to help him if he accepts it. (May eventually become a Frollo/Esmeralda depending on the mood I'm in). Constructive criticism is welcome but flames accomplish nothing.

"Even now, I can still save you…"

His lips still burned with a promise he had not kept. Immediately after Esmeralda had refused him one final time, Claude Frollo had run back inside the cathedral. His entire face was pale, his fingers pressed into his lips. As soon as he'd reached the privy, he'd dropped to his knees as the violent sickness overtook him. Amid all the awful retching and coughing, he felt a hand on his back. He moved to shrink away from it, for he did not deserve comfort. The hand merely moved to the back of his neck. At first, he found the fingers repulsively icy. The repulsion rapidly gave way to relief…the coolness felt good. For some odd reason, it triggered tears. He felt himself being tugged into someone's arms as he shivered and shook.

"It's all right, Your Worship…you tried your best to save her…"

The voice belonged to Jacques, one of his closest friends.

"You…don't understand…" Claude choked out, "it is…because of me…"

He trailed off as another exhausting flood of tears came.

"How could you have possibly contributed to that harlot's downfall?"

A wordless cry escaped Claude's throat. He had never been so ashamed of himself in his life. Jacques's dark eyes were full of concern. What about this particular woman made his brother so distraught?

"Tell me, Claude. I swear I won't say a word to anyone."

"I can't…"

"Then tell me how to help you…"

"God himself wouldn't help me now…"

"Oh, Claude, really? It can't be as bad as all that."

Jacques retrieved his handkerchief from the pocket of his cassock and began to sponge away the tears. He pulled the trembling Claude to his feet and led him away from the now sour-smelling room.

"You look terribly pale…you'd better sit. I'll get you some water."

Claude drew in a shaky breath as Jacques disappeared for a moment. It felt as though the weight of the world had come crashing down on his shoulders. Jacques returned with a tin mug. Claude's stomach rolled again, but he willed it to be still. The cold water washed away the bitterness in his mouth and cooled his aching middle pleasantly. His hands were shaking so hard that Jacques had to help him hold the mug.

"There now…now please tell me what in God's name—_sorry_," Jacques winced at Claude's stern look, "is going on."

"You swear you won't tell another soul no matter what happens?"

"It's between you, me, and God," Jacques said firmly, "no one else."

"All right…"

Claude recounted everything from his first glimpse of Esmeralda to moments before on the execution platform. He even confessed his feelings of intense lust to Jacques in lamenting groans.

"How can you just sit there? I have turned into a monster!" Claude wailed, his fingers tangled in his ash-blonde hair with the barest hint of silver.

"Claude Frollo, what is the reason that Jesus came to this earth?" Jacques asked calmly.

"Because…we couldn't make it on our own…couldn't uphold the earthly laws…"

"Exactly. No one's perfect. Everyone suffers from one flaw or another. Maybe it wasn't the best way to handle that situation, but maybe it's for the best that she's gone," Jacques soothed, "God will forgive you. It sounds as though you merely lost your head in the confusion you felt. No one ever tells you these things when you take your vows of celibacy."

Frollo's face had gone from ashen pale to blood red.

"But…for years, nothing! Not the slightest stir! And then…in one day…"

"It's nothing to be ashamed of," Jacques said matter-of-factly, "we still have bodies, don't we? Just because we choose not to use them in certain ways doesn't mean that they can't still respond to certain things."

Outside, the crowd had dispersed and the excitement had died down considerably.

"Thank you, Jacques. You and God are the only ones I can trust," Claude sighed, "I need some time alone now."

"Why don't you go and sit by the water? You'll be next to impossible to find there," Jacques suggested.

He watched his friend's retreating back and began to pray for him.

Claude paced about the small dock behind the cathedral. Darkness had fallen and he still didn't feel much better about himself. Out there, he had shouted at God, expressed all his anger at Him putting Claude in a situation like this. He had pleaded brokenly with God to save him from this mess and to have mercy on his poor, tainted soul. Other times, he stared blankly at the water and was at a total loss. Two fellow clerics had ventured past and tried to speak with him, but all he could say was "I killed her." Sensing that their leader was in a terrible state, they left him alone.

The awful exhaustion began to sink in and Claude was forced to go back to the cathedral. As soon as he crossed the entryway, Erik grabbed Claude's sleeve.

"Quasimodo has something to show you…he says it's important."

Claude sighed and labored up the stairs.

_Poor innocent fool…he's so fortunate that I never let him get attached to anyone…_the tortured archdeacon thought to himself. Quasimodo was waiting for him and eagerly dragged him towards the empty cubbyhole that had once been Esmeralda's room.

Claude's mouth dropped open, for surely he was hallucinating.

There, laying spread out on the bed, was a sleeping Esmeralda.

All at once, the joy and torment rose up within him again. He had not yet murdered anyone…Phoebus, he knew, was still alive, and now so was Esmeralda.

_Thank you God, Jesus, and Mary!_ His thoughts cried out.

Very carefully, he leaned over Esmeralda's sleeping form and kissed her lips so lightly that she might have thought there was only a breeze. Her bronze skin was unmarred and her raven-black hair spread out on her pillow like a halo. Before the temptation to wake her became too strong, Claude backed carefully out of the room. Quasimodo was smiling like a child who had done something great. Claude numbly squeezed the boy's shoulder before fleeing downstairs and Quasimodo knew he had done well.

"Master loves you…" he slurred to a sleeping Esmeralda, "I can tell because he kisses you."

"Well done, Quasimodo," Jacques said from the doorway, "he'd have never survived without her."

Jacques went to his own cell with a grin on his lips. He knew it was prideful, but he couldn't help himself. Just moments before Esmeralda was due to die, he had given Quasimodo the coil of rope and asked if he wanted to help his new friend. He knew they had saved more than one life that day.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: All right, it's decided. I'm making this a multi-chapter story just because I have a fondness for the Derek Jacobi version of Frollo.

The day's events had left Claude absolutely exhausted. He sank to his knees and prayed, thanking God over and over that Esmeralda had not died. Tears were still flowing freely and tumultuously down his cheeks, both joy and pain mixed together. When he was sure he couldn't remain kneeling any longer, he hauled himself towards the narrow bed. His eyes were burning from the constant flow of tears and his head ached terribly. They fluttered closed in the near-total darkness and he sank into a deep sleep.

The next morning dawned gray and misty. Esmeralda's green eyes fluttered open and she noticed a plate of food sitting on the bedside table. She eagerly took it and was eating when she heard footsteps. At first, she was a little frightened, thinking it was a soldier or perhaps Claude Frollo. It turned out to be none other than the poor, misshapen creature that lived in the bell tower.

"Don't be afraid…I'm your friend! Forgive me…I forget how ugly I am. I see how frightened you are, so don't look at me, please?"

"You brought me the food?" Esmeralda asked.

"I was…I was come to look at you sleeping. I watch you when you are sleeping. Is it all right if I watch you when your eyes shut and you can't see me?"

His words were slurred due to his malformed jaw, but his voice was so gentle. He started to walk away.

"No, wait!"

"It's my ears…" he said, "I can't hear well."

"I asked you to come back."

"It's how I was made. Horrible, isn't it? You can still speak to me with your lips and your eyes. My master taught me how to watch."

It was shortly after that when Esmeralda discovered that the simple act of providing Quasimodo with water during his punishment had made him loyal to her. He even said he would give his life for her. He also said he would come running if Esmeralda rang any of the bells because he could still hear them.

Quasimodo retreated outside. Esmeralda followed, leaning over the balcony to get a good view. She saw something down below that gave her the shock of her life.

Phoebus wasn't dead. He was right there.

…………………………………………………………

Claude reluctantly surrendered to wakefulness. In sleep, there were no harsh realities. One had only to breathe and that was it. Your dreams could take you everywhere else, good or bad, if you had them. Here in hard, cold, reality, there was no escape. He washed his face and combed his hair neatly before getting dressed. His eyes still hurt somewhat and they were sensitive to the light. His heart felt somewhat heavy, but there was nothing that could relieve this terrible ache. His stomach was still very sensitive from last night, so he was careful not to make any sudden movements.

Quasimodo was nowhere near the tower, so he ascended the spiral staircase. Esmeralda was there, awake and healthy for the most part.

"Do you know? Do you have any idea what will happen to you now?"

She regarded him coldly with her frozen green eyes.

"Captain Phoebus is alive."

"Yes…but what does that matter?"

She was curled up in a little ball, her knees tucked in close to her body.

"Well, he can go before the magistrate-"

"But the crime remains the same even though he lives."

His voice was no longer the soft, trembling, desperate cry she'd heard him use in the dungeon. His voice was hard, cold, calculating. The loathing of self he felt in that moment was probably more intense than her loathing of him.

"You! You were the one who tried to kill him!" she snarled.

"Yes! Possessed as I was by the devil!"

"Please go away, I beg you. I can't even bear to look at you."

"Do you find Quasimodo a better object to look upon?"

He had now reached the side of the bed. It surprised Claude how rapidly his breath was becoming ragged and harsh.

"He can't save you!"

"But he has!"

"No. Sanctuary can be broken. It needs only a decree of Parliament. Someone can easily solicit that decree."

"But who would do that?" she asked in a falsely innocent tone. It was _almost_ as if she was pleading with him there, begging to be wrong about the kind of man he was. The terror in her eyes came when she realized that he was considering it himself.

"Don't you yet understand? It's beyond all reason now. I must have you!"

"No!" Esmeralda yelled as Claude pounced on her. Inexperienced hands grabbed and squeezed roughly. Clumsily, he tried to kiss her and she pulled away. His knees had pinned her skirt, so she couldn't move her legs very well. Claude's blood was boiling.

Someone grabbed Claude and pulled him off. Esmeralda sat up and straightened her clothing. Mortified by what had happened, Claude retreated away.

Ashamed of himself, he dashed into his cell and locked the door. There were feelings coursing through his soul that he'd never experienced before. His heart was hammering in his chest so hard that it almost hurt. Feeling terribly uncomfortable, he unfastened the front of his robe to see what the problem was. There was a layer of sweat that had accumulated all over him, then there was the bulge…Claude had read about such things in a medical textbook that a traveling doctor had left behind a long time ago. Seeing it on himself and seeing it drawn in the page of a book were two totally different things. Helplessly, he lay down on his bed and let the dizziness pass. After a few moments, everything returned to normal.

_She'll hate me after that…she has every right to hate me. God, what have I done? _

…………………………………………………………………

Esmeralda was sitting in the dark by herself, her heart pounding. Quasimodo had left dinner for her, but she wasn't very hungry. Her mind was reeling…what should she do? If she went to Claude and tried to reason with him, he might potentially lose what was left of his sanity and rape her. If she didn't…well, she'd end up dead. He was so blinded by his own confusion that he'd never work it out himself. She wondered if he had left yet.

_I have to try…_she thought, _if not for myself, then for my people. What would become of them?_

The whole place had begun to shut down for the night. Notre Dame was nightmarishly huge in the dark. The only sounds were her own breath, her footsteps, and the guttering of the torches and candles.

_I don't know if you can hear me or if you even exist,_ Esmeralda prayed, gazing at a portrait of Mary and Jesus, _but if you can, please save me and my people…and even the archdeacon…if anyone needs you right now, it is definitely him. And Quasimodo, of course…uh…amen._

She had never decided one way or another if she really believed in God. She neither loved nor hated Him, He was just simply there. There were people that talked about him, but she wasn't sure if she bought that they actually talked "to" Him. It couldn't possibly hurt anything to do the same, could it?

Esmeralda finally spotted whom she thought was Claude from the back. When he turned, however, it wasn't him. It was another priest, this one slightly younger than Claude.

"Hello, Esmeralda," he said calmly, "is there something I can do for you?"

Esmeralda bit her lip. She wondered if she should tell him she was looking for Claude.

"Claude Frollo, His Excellency, is upstairs in his cell."

It was as though the man had read her mind.

"Oh, thank you…"

"Jacques," he introduced himself.

"Jacques," she repeated, "I've seen you with the archdeacon often. Are you brothers?"

"Sort of…" Jacques explained, "we grew up in the monastery together and then were sent here when we reached our teens. I consider Claude as my brother."

"I see," Esmeralda said hesitantly.

"Did you want him for something?" Jacques asked.

There. The illusion was gone.

"Well…I wanted to know why he threatened to have the sanctuary law lifted if he supposedly loves me so much," Esmeralda confessed, "he's acted very strangely since he discovered who I was."

"It's a long story," Jacques admitted, "but you should probably hear it from him. Part of it comes from this particular conflict—he cannot understand his feelings for you. He doesn't understand why God gave him such a weakness."

"And your opinion?"

Jacques smiled.

"It takes a very special man to run a church. Not all of us are called to do it. I sometimes wonder if Claude's time has come and gone. Maybe God Himself sent you to Claude."

Esmeralda was stunned.

"But I can't even stand looking at him sometimes after what he's done."

"I'm most certainly not saying he's handling this the right way—I'm saying he doesn't know any better."

Jacques finished snuffing out some of the candles, which left only a few of them burning.

"Would you like for me to go up and get him?"

Esmeralda cringed.

"I'll talk to him first, then," Jacques said.

"All right…" Esmeralda said hesitantly, "he might listen to you better anyway."

"Don't worry, my sister. Go upstairs and rest. There will be time to talk in the morning."

She nodded and went back up to the bell-tower. Jacques immediately headed towards Claude's room. He gently tapped on the door and waited for Claude's assent to enter.

"It is I," Jacques said calmly, then, "…Claude, are you all right? You don't look well."

Claude sat up, rubbing his temples.

"I have a headache," he muttered.

"I ran into Esmeralda just a moment ago. She seemed rather frightened."

Jacques approached the side of the bed.

"Did something happen between the two of you?"

Claude groaned and buried his face in his hands.

"I can't trust myself around her anymore, Jacques. It seems as though I absolutely go mad each time I do. I almost violated her."

"If you truly care so much about her, why do you keep threatening her? Would it not be better to treat her with kindness? Claude, you can't save people's souls with force! It doesn't work that way!"

Claude shuddered violently and tears pricked his blue-green eyes.

"Be careful, Claude…keep Quasimodo around if you must, but don't be alone with her anymore if you think you're that much of a danger. She's frightened enough as it is."

Claude nodded slowly.

"You're not really going to get Parliament to lift sanctuary on her, are you?"

"I suppose not."

"Do you swear?"

Jacques held up Claude's Bible.

"Jacques!?" Claude seemed shocked.

"Do it, Claude. If you can't hold yourself accountable, I will."

Claude placed a hand on the Bible.

"I swear I will not have Esmeralda arrested."

He sighed.

"Good. Get some rest, Claude. Tomorrow, you owe Esmeralda an apology."

Jacques walked out of the room and closed the door behind him. Claude stared at the door. He couldn't figure out what was weirder: Quasimodo, for his dumbness and deafness, suddenly grasping how important it was to save a life or his own best friend telling him what to do. It took him what seemed like forever to get to sleep that night.


	3. Chapter 3

It was difficult to focus on his duties, but Claude was determined. He lead Mass with a carefully controlled mask, spent extra time in prayer and fasting, and buried himself in books otherwise. He caught glimpses of Esmeralda throughout the week, but he never attempted to chase after her. It was more difficult than he could ever imagine to satisfy himself with a mere glance, a flutter of her skirt here, or a sight of her ebony hair blowing in the wind there. He had given Quasimodo the task of bringing Esmeralda her food and water. Once in a while, Quasimodo would tell Claude a story about her. Claude would sit and patiently listen through Quasimodo's rambling—something he rarely did anymore. Since becoming the archdeacon, he always found excuses to keep from seeing "his son" these days.

So far, they had not had any more mishaps. Jacques also relayed messages to Claude, though he was more cautious than Quasimodo. Unfortunately, Claude's luck ran out one night.

Despite the chill in the air, Claude was feeling on the grubby side. Some cathedral workers had been nice enough to heat up bath water for him. The only convenient place to bathe in those times was often in the kitchen. Claude didn't complain—the fire in the fireplace had stayed lit and it was putting off plenty of heat. His clean underclothes and nightgown were draped over the back of one chair and a clean towel was on the other. The washtub was about half full before he eased himself into it.

_The cathedral's awfully quiet tonight…everyone else is most likely in bed._

The only sounds were the snapping of the fire sparks and the soft splashes of water as he lathered himself up. A fleeting shadow caught his eye, but he saw nothing beyond the half-circle of firelight.

_Strange…my imagination is playing tricks on me._

It was an understatement to say that Claude had been rather jumpy as of late. He disliked the feeling immensely and was certain that Esmeralda had everything to do with it. Shaking his head, he slowly and methodically scrubbed himself clean.

There was a soft scuffling as though someone was trying to hide their footsteps.

"Who's there?!" Claude demanded harshly. This time, he was sure he saw something…or someone…creeping towards the pantry. The figure cowered at the sound of his voice. The light was terrible, but he was sure it was a person. The figure appeared short and stumpy beneath its hood and cloak.

"Quasimodo?"

The figure nodded.

"Why is your hood pulled up so far? Are you cold?"

In the dark, Claude could just barely make out a nod. Breathing a sigh of relief, Claude continued to bathe.

"You mustn't creep around in the shadows like that. Don't forget that Jesus himself has cast demons out of cathedrals and churches. You almost made my heart stop."

Another nod. Claude rinsed away the suds and started to reach for the towel. It was, unfortunately, too far away.

"Hand me the towel," he ordered the hunch-backed figure. It immediately scurried forward and did as it was told before taking off.

Something was amiss. Claude frowned as he dressed.

The hand…it was far too slender, too feminine.

Heat flooded Claude's face. She had seen him naked. It was so _unfair!_ He paced back and forth in front of the fireplace several minutes before going to bed. He knew if he left right away that he would head straight for the spiral staircase. Once he trusted himself again, he went upstairs to his own cell. Praying deep into the night, Claude thoroughly exhausted himself before going to bed.

Esmeralda hurried up the stairs, breathless.

_Of all the times to want a midnight snack,_ she scolded herself, _I had to choose tonight while that vicious man was in there having a bath! If only his soul were as clean as his body…_

Quasimodo was still asleep on his narrow bed and she quickly blew out her candle to keep from waking him. Shivering, she got underneath her own covers and hoped that Claude Frollo hadn't noticed anything amiss.

The light had shimmered off of his wet skin. She'd watched him for a few minutes and wondered how someone like him could have so much power over so many people. Claude was not heavy and muscular like Quasimodo, not godlike in stature like Phoebus, or even lean-muscled like Pierre. He was thin and frail-looking—the word that came to mind was _pathetic_. It was proof enough that Claude Frollo was nothing more than an ordinary man in elaborate trappings. Upon hearing his voice, her first instinct was to shrink. It was purely accidental and sheer dumb luck that she resembled Quasimodo when she arched her back the way she had. In a strange way, it fascinated her as he unfolded from the water. There were scars on his back, arms, chest, stomach, almost everywhere she could see. She wondered what had caused them. As she slowly fell asleep, various theories as to where the scars had come from appeared in her dreams.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

The sound of thundering hooves clattered through the streets.

"After them!" Phoebus yelled as the guards tried to capture the two gypsy children. The pouring rain was making it difficult to see at times. Claude had just emerged from a nearby house after giving a dying man his last rites. He saw the gypsy children run past followed by the small army of guards.

He wasn't sure what made him do it, but he sprang up onto his own horse's back and spurred it forward. The purple-robed horse whinnied and surged forward. The guards were going down the next street. Claude made the horse cut to the right and through an alleyway. He emerged at the end of the street just as the two obviously frightened children emerged. The little girl, he guessed, was no more than five years old. The little boy couldn't have been more than three.

"There are the little thieves! Get them!" Phoebus yelled. In an instant, they were surrounded by at least a dozen guards. Claude nudged his horse forward and put himself between the guards and the children.

"Exactly what has happened here?" Claude asked.

"They've been caught stealing!" Phoebus said triumphantly.

Claude glanced over at the children who were now cowering against a stone wall. They were absolutely filthy and the rags they wore hung limply around their bodies. They clung to each other like vines and stared up at him with big, dark eyes.

_Gypsy children_, he thought, _I wonder where their parents are._

"Where are their parents?" Claude asked.

Phoebus frowned.

_ Possibly the dumbest, most arrogant guard in the world. It's quite a shame I didn't succeed in killing him_, Claude thought.

"I didn't see any," Phoebus admitted.

"Did you _look_ for them?"

"Yes…" he said hesitantly.

Claude gave him a stern look. He could tell that the idiot guard was lying.

"If anyone comes looking for them," he said firmly, "_we_ will be at the cathedral."

Phoebus got the hint and the guards left. Claude slid out of the saddle and knelt down so that he was eye-level with the children.

"Don't be frightened. They're gone."

The little girl stared at him and hugged the boy tighter.

"How long have you been out here?" Claude asked.

She wouldn't answer. It was then that he noticed that their feet were bleeding from running on the stones. They seemed badly scraped up and they were soaking wet. It was only going to get colder once the sun went down…

_I wonder if Esmeralda knows them…_

"Come here," Claude said gently, "I won't hurt you."

Hesitantly, the little girl led the little boy forward. He lifted both of them up onto the horse before springing up himself. As they approached the cathedral, he watched them look up in amazement. Once he had gotten the horse inside, Claude led them up the stairs. The little boy let out a piercing yelp and stumbled. A dark stain of blood smeared the wet stone. He didn't seem to want to be carried, but Claude picked him up anyway. His nose wrinkled upon smelling the child—yuck! It must have been days or even weeks since his last bath.

"Cl-Your Excellency! What's going on?" Jacques asked, careful to address him by his proper title in front of the other clergy.

"I found these two being chased by the guards," Claude said, trying not to gag from their smell, "they either have no parents or they got separated from them."

Jacques took out his handkerchief and wrapped it around the little boy's profusely bleeding foot.

"Don't worry, son, we'll get you both taken care of. Are you brother and sister?"

They both nodded. Quasimodo was standing in the doorway. Claude turned to him.

"Get Esmeralda down here," he said very clearly, "and tell her we need her help."

The hunchback nodded and hurried away.

The little girl caught sight of some of the statues and shrank away from them. She clung to the folds of Claude's robes and hid her face. He placed an awkward hand on her head and smoothed her tangled hair down. The moments when Quasimodo had been her age seemed so far away now…he couldn't remember what he'd done to comfort him when Quasimodo had gotten frightened.

"Don't be afraid," he said awkwardly, "you have nothing to be afraid of here."

Esmeralda emerged from the spiral staircase. She stopped in surprise at what she saw.

The little girl held her arms out and Claude lifted her up. Despite the smell and the filthiness, he really did feel bad for her. The little girl's whimpering and crying seemed to slow considerably once she was picked up.

"They were being chased by the guards," Jacques explained, "and to put it bluntly, we haven't the slightest idea what we're doing here beyond declaring sanctuary for them."

Between Esmeralda, Quasimodo, Jacques, and Claude, they managed to get both children bathed, bandaged up, and into clean clothes. The children devoured their dinners voraciously though they did not speak at all. They gratefully took seconds and rewarded the adults with thankful smiles. Neither of them seemed scared of Quasimodo at all which made him happy.

Interactions between Claude and Esmeralda were kept to a bare minimum. Things were terribly awkward at best and Jacques tried to overcompensate by speaking for everyone. The trip to the bell-tower was spent in silence. Esmeralda carried the little boy and Claude carried the little girl. Jacques and Quasimodo carried the torches at the beginning and end of the line.

"I'll watch over them tonight," Esmeralda assured them as she tucked them into her bed.

"Thank you," Claude mumbled. She watched him retreat down the stairs as quickly as possible.

Instead of going to his cell, Claude retreated to the sanctuary. He was too afraid to be completely alone with his thoughts. For one, he was enraged at Phoebus for wanting to throw children in jail—whether Phoebus actually had said that or not, he wouldn't have put it past him. On the other hand, he was too busy trying not to think about the possibility of he and Esmeralda ever having children. The arrival of the gypsy children had shaken him up considerably. Part of him questioned whether or not it had to do with the fact that Esmeralda was a gypsy. He sat on the hard pew lost in thought when a little hand grabbed at the sleeve of his robe.

It was the little girl.

"Why aren't you in bed?" he asked, not expecting an answer.

"I had to…" she crossed her legs, "do something…and I got lost on the way back."

"So…you can speak."

"Yes. Mama said not to talk to strangers, but I guess we're not strangers now, huh?"

She sat down on the pew beside him.

"Who's that?"

Her little finger pointed to Mary and Jesus. Without making things too terribly graphic, Claude told her the story of Jesus. Unlike the spoiled brats who often came in here and ran amok during Mass, she seemed to genuinely listen and want to know more. After a while, Claude lapsed into silence and so did she. She had fallen asleep, he realized, as a snore came from her open mouth.

_How can something so little make this much noise?_

Just as Claude's own drowsiness was about to overcome him, he jerked awake at the sound of rustling fabric.

"There she is," Esmeralda breathed, "I woke up and she wasn't in bed."

Claude eased her off of the arm that now tingled and pained him due to bad circulation. Esmeralda lifted her up in a cradle hold. The little girl was fast asleep.

"Her name is Ginger," Esmeralda said, "like the spice."

He nodded.

"I'll just…take her upstairs now…"

Claude watched Esmeralda walk away and wished dearly that he could follow. Under the circumstances, he didn't think it was a good idea. He was treading on thin ice with Esmeralda as it was. As soon as they were gone, Claude dropped to his knees in front of the statue of Mary.

_Thank you so much,_ he prayed silently, _for these wonderful children…however much they kicked at me, bit me, screamed at me…I'm glad we were able to save them._

In reality, he was actually more grateful that he had a reason to talk with Esmeralda. As he made his way upstairs, he knew he would have to apologize to her eventually.


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: A big thank you goes out to "frollo4life". Though there isn't much traffic on this story, it's nice to know that someone appreciates it.

Over the course of the next couple of weeks, Claude learned things he had never read about in books. He learned that bored children were an accident waiting to happen and chaos waiting to erupt. He learned that shouting "get down from there" didn't always get a child off of a dangerously high area. He learned that "kissing it better" actually appeared to have healing powers for cuts and bruises and that the shrieking laughter of an amused little girl was highly contagious. He learned that Quasimodo's arched back actually made an ideal riding spot for a tired kid. He learned it wasn't a good idea to leave quills, ink, and paper laying around because the temptation to draw pictures and make a mess was too great for the little ones.

One night as he pried Ginger off of the bookshelf for the umpteenth time, she asked him if it was really time for bed.

"Yes," he said firmly, "or you won't have all this energy tomorrow."

"You have your own room. How will you know if I actually sleep?"

Claude eased her to the floor.

"_I_ might not," he warned, "but God will know."

"He knows everything, doesn't He?" Ginger asked, resignation in her voice.

"Of course. That's what makes Him God," Claude responded, taking her small hand and leading her out of the library.

"Father Claude, will our parents ever come back? Do they even know where we are?"

Claude shrugged.

"We sent messengers out to find them," he told her, "it just might take more time. There are hundreds of children in this city whose parents went to Heaven without them."

"They wouldn't leave without us, would they? How could anyone leave their children behind without saying goodbye?"

Ginger's tone was demanding and Claude sensed a temper tantrum coming.

"Sometimes they don't have a choice, Ginger," he said gently, "when God calls them, they have to come right then."

"Father Claude, what's Heaven like?"

Though Ginger's feet were healing, she sometimes still walked with a limp at the end of the day. He no longer hesitated in picking her up if she reached up to him.

"I can't say that I know for sure," he admitted, "I've never gone there. Now, no more questions. It's time for you to go to sleep."

Esmeralda was already upstairs. Ginger's brother, Andrew, was fast asleep already.

"But I'm not-" Ginger yawned widely, "-sleepy."

"Sure you aren't."

He smoothed the covers over her and started down the stairs.

"Wait!"

He recognized the whisper as Esmeralda's voice and paused. It amazed him that he could hear his heart thundering in his ears and wondered if she could hear it as well.

"Archdeacon…Claude? There's much more of a father in you than I ever would have guessed."

Claude stared awkwardly at a loosening brick near her feet.

"Well…thank you…" he mumbled in surprise, "…and I believe that you will make an excellent mother."

She ventured closer and Claude could feel the heat rising in his face.

"I…apologize…for my earlier actions…" he choked out awkwardly, "I've been wanting to tell you for ages and I wasn't sure how to go about it. I will never again touch you without your consent. You are safe here as long as you need to stay and I won't ask anything of you in return."

His apology left him exhausted and dizzy. He leaned back against the cold stone wall and was thankful for its iciness.

"Thank you, sir."

Her gratitude was evident even though he could barely see her face.

"If you…want to leave…I will show you the way out and I won't say a word to the guards," he said uneasily, "you have only to say that you're ready."

There. This, Esmeralda thought, was how an archdeacon should behave. The man in front of her was no longer forcing his power down her throat but offering her help instead. Something had changed him…whether it had been Jacques or the children, she could not say.

"I appreciate it very much," she said softly, "but I will stay until the children have their parents back. It doesn't seem right to leave them behind."

Claude was overwhelmed. She was willing to endure some obvious discomfort to help the little ones. He couldn't help but ask:

"Is there someone out there waiting for you to return?"

"There is. His name is…well…"

"You don't have to say if you don't want to."

"He's a poet. Granted, he isn't very good right now, but that could change. He lacks inspiration," Esmeralda said, "our ruler was going to have him hanged and I claimed him to keep him out of the noose."

The guilt began to creep around Claude like a living mist.

"We are friends," she continued, "but I've found myself missing him more as of late."

He nodded slowly.

"I wish I would have seen it sooner," she admitted, "Phoebus is nice to look at, but he's not as much of a prize as I thought. He's already forgotten about me."

Anger flared up inside of Claude, but he kept silent.

"I'm not fond of the situation," Esmeralda admitted, "but you might have actually done me a favor however selfish the motive."

Claude's hand had tightened around a fold of his robes. His jaw twitched a little and it was something that often happened when he was upset. His sigh caused the candle he held in his other hand to sputter.

"I do hope you can forgive me," he said quietly, "I have never felt anything so confusing in my life."

Before he could say or do anything that would be regrettable, Claude turned on his heel and walked away. Esmeralda watched him go and suddenly wished that he would have stayed.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

A/N: I got a question about Frollo's past, so I tossed a little bit of insight here. I hope this wasn't too far-fetched, it was the only thing I could think of. Since my one loyal reviewer appears to thrive on awkward moments, I tossed a few in. Since I've been watching the movie frequently, I'm on an inspiration high right now.

On some levels, Claude couldn't wait to get Ginger and Andrew back to their parents. In other ways, he desperately wished they would stay for forever because Esmeralda would then stay for forever. He was sure that he could learn to live with children around all the time…

Maybe.

"Your Worship," one of the clergy addressed him, "there is a child in the baptismal pool."

Claude muttered under his breath and put down the quill pen he'd been holding. He was making notes for tonight's sermon and hadn't made much progress. In fact, he'd only written about five sentences. It seemed as though someone wanted him for something just as he would get an idea.

He marched straight towards the sanctuary, robes billowing out behind him. He could hear the laughter tinkling like bells as it bounced off of the stone interior.

"May I ask what you're doing in there?" Claude inquired calmly. He refused to let frustration get the better of him despite the mess of puddles all around. Both Ginger and Andrew were soaking wet and their dark hair was plastered down to their foreheads.

"Swimming!" Andrew announced triumphantly.

Despite his mild irritation, Claude started to laugh hysterically. Surprised, Esmeralda rounded the corner. She peered out from behind one of the stone statues and stared wide-eyed at the normally strict archdeacon. It was the first time she'd seen him smile about anything, let alone laugh.

The children both grinned simultaneously and sent a wave towards Claude. Water splashed down the front of his robes and he yelped in surprise. Shivering, he started towards them and they split up.

_Great…._

Pools of water were left behind in their wake. The other clergy members didn't look very pleased at all.

Esmeralda emerged, an amused grin on her face. Claude made a face and shook the excess water off of his robes.

"I'll never catch them," he mumbled, crossing his arms.

Esmeralda was suppressing her own fit of laughter.

"I've forgotten what it was like to be that young," she admitted, "I did things like that on a regular basis."

"If I had behaved like that, I'd have gotten a sound lashing from my father," Claude muttered, "_and_…"

He immediately stopped talking when he realized he'd said it out loud.

"And what?" she pressed.

"Never mind."

Esmeralda's breath caught in her throat when she remembered the scars all over Claude's skin.

"He was cruel to you?"

She could see the cold anger in his blue-green eyes. It was like watching an ocean suddenly ice over. This time, however, she understood that none of the anger was directed at her.

"Hardship builds the character of one's soul," he said sharply as he mopped up the mess that the children had made, "and my father made sure we learned that from a very early age."

She retrieved a nearby towel and began to wipe up puddles as well.

"Did you have brothers and sisters?"

"Only one—my brother, Jehan. I have not seen him in years. I'm not even sure he still lives," Claude admitted, "we lived on the streets for quite some time. I tried to talk him into coming with me to the monastery, but he refused. I woke to find him gone the next morning."

"You ran away," Esmeralda guessed.

"We were stopping our father from committing a terrible sin," Claude said, wringing out his rag, "I doubt we'd have survived much longer if we'd stayed. If it hadn't been because of him, it would have been the cold or the hunger."

Esmeralda was surprised at the cold, detached way that he spoke of his past. If it had been her, she was sure she would have cried or been angrier about it. His expression of anger had given way to cold indifference.

"Jehan was only six, I believe," Claude said, "and he was far too much of a dreamer to survive this world. I never intended for him to fend for himself. I searched all over for him. Eventually, the streets got the better of me and I was nearly killed by a band of…"

He paused before saying the word.

"…gypsies. They were holding a knife to my throat as the ugliest, most hideous one was telling the others of his plans for me. I didn't understand any of what he meant, praise Mary, but they fled. The next thing I knew, I was surrounded by monks. They took me in and tried to find Jehan for me, but there was no trace of him."

"I've never lost a brother or sister," Esmeralda commented, "that must have been difficult."

Claude drew in a deep breath. The emotion was coming back into his face now, one of intense grief.

"The worst part of is that I used to believe I'd be better off without Jehan to look after as a child. Once I'd lost him forever, I was mortified that I'd ever wanted him gone."

Esmeralda felt so much sympathy in that moment that she almost reached out to touch him. Only a thin string of doubt held her back.

"Life at the monastery was difficult, but it was well worth it," Claude said, recomposing himself, "there was rarely a time that I went without food. I learned to read and write and to care for others and their souls. I know a little bit about healing and medicine. If I don't know of something, I can almost always find it in a book."

"I know that I learn something new each day," Esmeralda responded, "I never could depend on books as I can't read."

"I'm not surprised," Claude commented. He cringed under Esmeralda's injured look.

"What I meant was that most of Paris cannot yet read," he explained, "the printing press has only just been brought to the city. It's a myth that only gypsies are illiterate."

Esmeralda tilted her head. The way a strand of raven hair fell into her face nearly made him come unglued. She stared at him with those emerald green eyes and he realized something: there was intelligence there, though it was a different type.

"So…you don't have a problem with others learning to read?" she asked.

"Of course not. Nothing but good can come of it—ignorance breeds poverty and crime and destruction."

She came to the realization that she had just had a civilized conversation with Claude. The water was completely cleaned up. Quasimodo marched into the room with the two children and their still-wet clothes.

"I found them, Master. They was hiding upstairs."

"Good work, Quasimodo. You may get back to your chores now."

Quasimodo nodded and walked away. The two children bowed their heads and glanced at each other.

"Well, what are you waiting for? Go and change into some dry clothes," Claude said sternly, "it is nearly dinner time."

Ginger looked up at him, stunned.

"We're not in trouble?"

"Not this one time. The baptismal font is not a plaything, however, and you made a very big mess. Next time you want to play, I suggest going out back to the gardens—stay away from the water, though."

They looked at each other, mouths open.

"Go on," Claude urged.

They hurried upstairs. With a nod, Esmeralda knew she was dismissed as well to help them.

"Your Excellency," one of the clergy members called, "you have a visitor in the front."

Claude watched Esmeralda disappear up the stairs and went to see what was going on.


	7. Chapter 7

The man was leaning heavily against a column. Even from a distance, the stench was unbearable. He had the withered, gaunt look of a human that had slowly wasted away through self-neglect over the years. His ashy blonde hair hung in limp tendrils over his face and the hood of the filthy cloak he wore obscured most of his features. Even so, Claude could see part of a blue-green eye peering out. It had a crazed, wild look; the look of near-madness. The smell of cheap wine and prostitutes still hung heavily over him in addition to the layers of grime on his skin.

Without saying a word, Claude marched forward and pulled the hood back. Though it had been many years since he'd seen this face, traces of someone he knew still remained.

The drunken man chuckled.

"Look at you, Claude! I heard you became archdeacon…always knew this place would sink its claws into you and never let you go!"

The gulp in Claude's throat was very audible. He turned his face away from his brother's sickening breath and tried not to vomit.

"And you…I'm surprised you're still alive," Claude choked out around his rolling stomach.

"Ah, the Old Devil ain't got me yet! God knows he tried," Jehan laughed, "but I'm always one step ahead."

He suddenly teetered wildly and Claude grabbed him to keep him from dropping to the hard stone floor.

"Maybe," Claude answered, "but he'll catch you if you keep falling over like that. How long has it been since you've had a bath?"

"Oh, I don't have a need for baths," Jehan answered, "I just wait for some old geezer to push me into the river. I get plenty clean that way."

He grinned cheekily at Claude's obvious displeasure. The priest began to guide the drunkard into the kitchen. The others that were standing around were staring at them with wide eyes.

"What brings you to the cathedral?" Claude asked.

"I sort of got myself in a bit of a bind," Jehan admitted, "I don't know if you noticed the guards outside…"

Claude shook his head and eased Jehan into one of the wooden chairs that had arms. At least he'd stay put there.

"What have you done?" Claude asked, not sure he wanted to know.

"Well…the question is more like 'what haven't I done?' I believe the charges are public drunkenness, theft, attempted murder…there was one more, but I forgot what it was…"

Claude paused from getting a pail of water to give Jehan a Look. Jehan responded by smiling. He somehow managed to look as innocent as a kitten despite the missing teeth and the rotten remaining ones.

_He always did have a knack for smiling his way out of trouble,_ Claude remembered. Jehan stopped smiling when Claude pounced on him and started washing his face with a rag.

"See here now! I'm a grown man, Claude!" Jehan protested.

"Shut up and sit still," Claude demanded sharply, "I'll not have anyone so filthy staying in my cathedral. And I won't have any drunkards, either."

"Who said I was staying?" Jehan asked coyly.

"I did," Claude said firmly, "do you realize how close to death's doorstep you are? You look like you haven't had a decent meal in weeks. I lost you once—I won't do it again."

"Don't pull your Holier-than-thou act with me! I can leave anytime I please!" Jehan roared.

"If I have to strap you to this chair, I will do it," Claude snapped, "and if you escape, I will have the guards drag you back in."

Jehan's head rolled back. Claude sighed and continued to scrub. He stripped off the man's clearly ragged and unwashed clothes despite the displeasure of the cook and tossed them into the fire.

"Your brother, I presume?" Jacques asked.

"Unfortunately," Claude muttered, "I need some clean clothes. Can you please go get them?"

Jacques nodded and turned on his heel.

It was harder to wash Jehan's hair with him unconscious. Claude had to take special care in not drowning him as he lowered Jehan's head towards the tub. He even cleaned Jehan's teeth for him though he actually _did_ get sick at some point. With Jacques's help, he dressed Jehan and the two men carried him upstairs to an empty cell.

Esmeralda eventually came downstairs to see what was going on. She recognized Jehan instantly—he did not have the same troubled expression as Claude did, but the self-neglect was etched permanently into his skin. Though Claude had the more responsible and more mature expression, he looked several years younger than Jehan.

"What are you doing to him?" Esmeralda asked.

Claude paused. Jehan, though unconscious, was bound to the bed with some extra sheets.

"He is a drunk," Claude explained, "the toxins and the demons both will leave his body if he isn't permitted to have another drink. Unfortunately, they will fight all the way and Jehan will temporarily go mad."

Esmeralda frowned. She didn't know very much about such things.

"Sometimes beggars come here and ask for help overcoming the drink," Claude explained, "but they become ill after a certain amount of time. They would do anything for a bottle of wine just to stop the pain and the sickness—what they don't know is that does stop after a few days. It's difficult to wait it out, but there's no other way. It seems cruel, but it's much better than letting them continue to succumb to their demons."

"What will happen to him?" Esmeralda asked.

"He'll behave as though he's ill," Claude explained, "someone will have to be with him all the time or he might drown in his own sickness. He might also see things that aren't there and convulse other times. Eventually, he'll recover but he'll be weak for some time."

Claude smoothed Jehan's long hair back from his face.

"What can I do to help?" Esmeralda asked, uncomfortable with the unease on Claude's face.

"Go and get a pair of scissors. He'll be easier to keep clean if his hair is short and his face is shaven."

She did as she was told. Claude held Jehan's head up while Esmeralda cut his hair. Without the matted beard and ragged hair, Jehan looked several years younger despite his leathery skin.

"And now?" she asked.

"We wait," Claude replied, "and pray that God has mercy on his soul."

The children eventually figured out that something big was about to happen. At dinner, they both asked a lot of questions about the strange man. Claude only answered them vaguely, explaining that the man was very ill and that they should stay out of the way. He knew that many men who came off of the drink could say some very nasty things and he didn't want the children hearing that kind of talk. They were too young, he decided, to know about certain horrors of the world. He was determined to at least enjoy dinner with them before all Hell broke loose.

"Quasimodo told me all of the names of the bells," Andrew informed him, "but I can't remember them all yet."

"Father Claude, can you teach me how to read?" Ginger asked.

Claude caught the warm smile of Esmeralda's out of the corner of his eye.

"When Jehan is better," he promised, "until then, I will have my hands full."

"How long will it take for him to get better?" Ginger asked.

"The worst of it should be over in three days," Claude said, spreading some butter on a crescent roll, "after that, he won't need to be watched so closely."

"Three days? That's forever!" Andrew protested.

Claude couldn't suppress his smile. Time passed differently for children.

"What will we do until then?" Ginger asked.

"You can help me by keeping Quasimodo company," Claude said, "I'm sure he can teach you some new games if you help him with his work. And you can also help by staying out of trouble. That means no playing hide-and-seek in the underground tunnels, no swinging from the bell ropes like little monkeys, and no screaming like wild animals. If you need anything, ask Jacques or Quasimodo. You'll be responsible for getting yourselves to meals on time and in bed on time. Can you do that for me?"

"We'll do it," Ginger agreed, "it's the first time we've ever been asked to help anyone. Most of the time, people just tell us to go away."

Both adults could see that the children were taking their "job" very seriously. There was a slight twinkle in Claude's eye as he glanced over at Esmeralda.

"If you can be very, very good for three days and not get in any trouble at all, we'll do something special together, just the four of us."

"What?" they both demanded.

"You'll see. Now…finish eating. I have to go check on Jehan."

Esmeralda watched his robes billow out around him as he walked around the corner. Part of her couldn't help but be very proud of Claude—there was more to him than she'd have ever guessed. Something inside of him was changing for the better.


	8. Chapter 8

"Oh, God…Claude, what have you done to me?" Jehan moaned weakly, "let me up from this bed at once!"

Claude stayed in the doorway and stared at his younger brother with a brooding, shadowy expression. The sun was rapidly setting and it cast a weak orange light on the man laying helplessly in the cocoon of sheets.

"I will," Claude finally said, "when you are no longer ill."

"I am NOT ill," Jehan responded, "I simply need a drink and that cures everything. Now get me loose."

Claude shook his head. Jehan glared at him.

"Dammit, Claude! You always were the one to spoil my fun!"

"Fun? _Fun?_ You call getting drunk, beaten, thrown out of taverns and bars, and getting sick the next morning _fun?_"

"At least I have a life," Jehan sneered, "it doesn't look as though you live at all."

Claude crossed his arms. He would not be swayed by Jehan's attempts to anger him.

"You're wrong," he said calmly, "I can't say my life has always been exciting, but I can remember nearly all of it. How much do you remember, Jehan?"

Jehan was shaking, though with fury or with the beginnings of withdrawal, Claude could not tell.

"Get out."

Claude tipped his head forward, his cool blue-green eyes meeting Jehan's.

"As you wish."

He closed the door and tried to block out the intense stream of swearing that chased after him.

The changes were subtle at first. Jehan became more and more aggressive and nearly escaped a couple of times. Claude had been forced to replace the rags with chains. Jehan hadn't liked that at all and had actually punched him in the face during an intense struggle. A shadowy bruise now marred Claude's jawline on one side and it burned like fire. Jacques had heard the struggle from the end of the hall and hurried to assist him.

Then, the nastiness started.

Jehan was sick to his stomach several times. It seemed as though the cascade of vomit was neverending. Just when they all thought he would surely have emptied himself, fluids were coming up. He was drenched in sweat as though someone had dumped a bucket of water over his head. The sickness didn't make him any less nasty—it appeared to only make his mouth more vulgar. Claude forbade Esmeralda or the children to enter the hallway lest they overhear Jehan's vigorous swearing. The convulsions began to come and break up those bouts of swearing. When Jehan went unconscious for the third time, Claude opened the window to try and ventilate the awful smell. His nerves were very rattled and he prayed several times, kneeling by the bed.

It had been different all of those other times. Claude had always made peace with the temporary cruelty in order to be kind. A detached air of duty would drown out the anxiety and frustration he often felt and alleviate the resulting guilt.

This, however, was his brother.

Some of the insults he'd hurled at Claude stung bitterly. Claude did his best not to let the barbs hit their mark—it would pass. There was one, however, that broke through his seemingly impenetrable shield.

"You were supposed to take care of me! I'm this way because of YOU!" Jehan snarled.

"You ran away," Claude said numbly, "there was nothing I could do."

"Oh, but you didn't keep looking for me," Jehan probed, "you were too busy enjoying your nice clean robes and learning to read about God…I wonder what you thought about as you lay down in your nice, soft bed at night! It was probably 'oh, poor, stupid Jehan, maybe by God's grace he'll live, oh well…' wasn't it? I'll bet you were relieved that you didn't have me!"

Something inside Claude snapped and a bitter coldness washed over him. It was the same icy, wintry feeling that had overtaken him when he had gone to visit Esmeralda in the dungeon. He walked towards the bed and grabbed Jehan by his damp nightshirt.

"You don't care if I lay here and die, do you?" Jehan taunted.

Claude yanked him up as far as his chains would permit. They were almost nose to nose.

"You know what?" Claude whispered menacingly, "You're right. I don't care if you die right here, right now. I did just fine without you and I can do it again. You got yourself into this mess when you ran away. With your drink and your prostitutes, you dug your own grave, so lie in it!"

He released Jehan roughly and stomped out of the room.

"Wait! Claude, I didn't mean it, honest!" Jehan pleaded, his voice breaking from tears, "You don't really want me to die, do you? Claude, wait!"

The door closed with a snap. Claude shuddered as he listened to Jehan's terrified sobs from the other side. He was fighting back his own.

"Don't listen to him."

The soft voice was the perfect antidote for the poisonous exchange that had just taken place. Esmeralda appeared with a candle in her hand.

"He's right, you know…" Claude's choked whisper responded, "I stopped trying to find him long ago."

"It's not your fault," Esmeralda argued, "you were a _child_, Claude! You were a child who barely survived yourself!"

He decided not to comment on her decision to address him by his first name. He was too busy wrestling with the ugliness that had suddenly emerged.

"I said such terrible things to him just now," Claude's voice quivered, "I can't believe I said them."

"He deserved it," she muttered, "he seems quite full of himself."

Too late. The tears had already started to flow. Jehan's keening had not yet started to wane.

Esmeralda cautiously placed her hands on his upper arms when Claude covered his face in shame. Gone was the powerful and somewhat arrogant archdeacon of Notre Dame Cathedral. In his place, there was a badly frightened little boy who had not yet found himself. She suddenly realized that she no longer feared Claude at all.

"It's been nearly two days," Esmeralda commented, "you're exhausted and he's said one too many hurtful things, that's all. When was the last time you slept or ate?"

Claude didn't answer. She felt him quivering violently and was afraid he would just fall over. Just as a mother would comfort a crying child, she slid her arms around him.

The sudden physical contact made Claude freeze. He could have sworn his heart stopped beating. Though she was nearly a head shorter than he was and very slender, there was power in her touch. As cautiously as though she were made of glass, his arms went around her as well.

Esmeralda could feel the hesitation, the uncertainty in his touch. She responded by tightening her own grip on him. Then, she felt him melt. His face rested against her ebony black hair and she could feel the moisture from his tears. His breath still hot from his crying spell made a prickling sensation on her scalp. She rubbed his back in small circles and mumbled comforts to him.

"You said yourself it would stop soon," she told him, "why don't you go and get some rest? I can watch Jehan for a few hours."

A sniff from Claude was the only reply as he struggled to pull himself together.

"I saved you some bread from dinner," she told him, "it's here in my basket."

Claude accepted the cloth-wrapped bundle gratefully. She watched him walk down the hall to his own cell after making her swear to let him know if Jehan got out of hand. His purposeful stride was slow and labored with fatigue. Squaring her shoulders, she ventured into Jehan's room. Without waiting for a reaction from the man, she tore into him with a tongue-lashing he would never forget.

"How can you say such things to him? He is your BROTHER!" she snarled. Jehan winced, but then sneered.

"How can you defend him, my lady? He tried to have you killed."

Esmeralda cringed, but surely the archdeacon had changed?

"He has made amends for his mistake," she said firmly, "and it is time that you made amends for yours."

Jehan snorted derisively.

"Why bother to defend him so? We both know that dear old Claude's got his own agendas. He's probably only got me strapped to this bed to say he's being such a great brother for trying to save me. I'll have none of it."

"He's made mistakes, yes, but he is the ONLY brother you have," Esmeralda snapped, "and the sooner you get it through your thick pigheaded skull, the better!"

Jehan narrowed his eyes at the gypsy girl.

"You _like_ him, don't you? Yes, I can see it in your face…"

Esmeralda crossed her arms.

"Don't hold your breath, sweetheart," Jehan said dismissively, "Claude wouldn't know love if it bit him on his skinny white ass."

Esmeralda glared at him. Gypsy or not, that was no way to speak to a lady.

"Well, he wouldn't," Jehan defended himself.

"Neither would you, it appears," Esmeralda retorted.

"Humph. You're as bad as he is," Jehan mumbled, "always having to have the last word. He told you to watch me, eh? You can watch me sleep, then."

He closed his eyes and refused to speak for the rest of the night. Esmeralda was secretly grateful.

The next morning, she awoke to Jehan grunting.

"Gypsy! Wake up!"

She stretched her aching muscles. The hard chair had not been a pleasant place to fall asleep.

"What do you want?" she asked through a yawn.

"I need a chamber pot _right now_."

She retrieved it from under the bed, but then the obvious struck her.

"Hurry up! I'm about to flood my drawers!" Jehan pleaded.

She stared at him.

"_Please,_" he begged.

Awkwardly, she yanked his underpants down without looking. His nightshirt hid all of his scandalous parts. No sooner had she positioned the pot, she heard the stream of urine escape forcefully.

It was hard to say who was more embarrassed.

"Thank you," he breathed, "I think Claude would have ripped my innards out if he'd had to clean me up once more."

She carefully removed the now brimming pot and rearranged his nightclothes again.

"What day is it?" Jehan asked wearily.

"It's the morning of the third day," Esmeralda explained, "since your arrival."

She opened the shutters of the window. It wasn't quite dawn, but the sky was already changing colors.

"I feel as though I've been through a war," Jehan grumbled, "and shot full of holes. I would love nothing more than to get these bloody chains off."

"I'll see what I can do," Esmeralda responded before leaving the room.

She passed by Claude's cell and peered through a crack in the door. He was still sleeping soundly in his creamy white nightclothes. She smiled…white made him look positively angelic. He looked too sober, too serious in the black robes he usually wore.

By the time she returned to Jehan's room, Jehan was out cold. He was snoring loudly, which Esmeralda took to be a good sign. At least he was sleeping normally! She decided to go get a cup of tea while she waited for them both to wake up.

Ginger tiptoed down the stairs looking like a little ghost in her pale nightdress. Very timidly, she pushed Claude's door open with a creak.

"Father Claude? I had a terrible nightmare…may I sleep in here?"

There was just enough room in the narrow bed for her to squeeze in. Instinctively, one of Claude's arms closed protectively around her. She smiled softly and closed her eyes.

The sun rose higher, staining the world with its red light. Eventually, the red turned to gold and the world began to wake up. The shopkeepers opened their doors and all sorts of good smells wafted out. The people of Paris began to mill around in the streets and the sound of horses' hooves clopped on the cobblestones. Claude stirred awake, wondering why his body felt so heavy. When he opened his eyes, there was something soft and black in the way.

He was vaguely surprised to see that he had rolled over on his back and Ginger was laying with her head on his chest. Andrew was on his other side with one little arm flung over his stomach. He smiled warmly.

"Wake up, little ones."

They both yawned and stirred awake.

"What are you both doing here?" he asked.

"I had a nightmare," Ginger said, "and I didn't want to stay in the bell tower. There are _bats_ in there sometimes."

"And I didn't want to be by myself," Andrew commented.

"Why didn't you look for Quasimodo?" Claude asked.

Ginger's skinny arms tightened around him.

"I wanted _you,_" she said matter-of-factly.

Esmeralda poked her head in the door.

"There you are," she breathed, "I've been looking all over for both of you. Let's go and get you dressed."

The children bounced off of the bed and followed her. Claude stripped away his night clothes and began to dress.

_Amazing…_he thought, astounded, _first Esmeralda hugs me, now the children…is it possible?_

He went straight to Jehan's room after he had combed his messy bedhead out.

"Good morning, brother," Jehan said sheepishly, "I suppose I owe you a very large apology."

Claude sat down on the edge of the bed. Though he'd slept a full night, he was thoroughly exhausted.

"I didn't want to, you know," he lamented, "I didn't want to give up. I've prayed for you every single night since you left. That was before I even knew for sure there was a God."

"I know," Jehan said weakly, "I said some horrible things and I wish I could take them back. I feel so empty. There were nights that I wish I had a fraction of what you had."

Claude's wary expression had changed to sympathy.

"Though you are completely celibate and unable to marry, you have a family," Jehan sighed, "those two children who obviously love you and that beautiful woman. I've bedded half the women in Paris and not one of them was like her. The rest may as well have been flowers, for they were beautiful but had scarcely half a brain between them all. And me? All I had was the-" he smiled meekly at Claude's stern expression, "dratted bottle. God himself wouldn't love an old sinner such as myself."

"He might if you stop using His name in vain so often," Claude commented, "the last I've checked, the word 'dammit' is _not_ listed anywhere in the Bible as His last name."

Both men dissolved into laughter.

"So…you _do_ have a sense of humor," Jehan remarked, "you just need to dust it off once in a while."

Claude's eyes rolled.

"So, how do you feel now?"

Jehan snorted.

"My legs, arms, and head hurt. My mouth is as dry as one of Genevieve's biscuits, I haven't had anything to eat in nearly three days, and I'm sick of drowning in my own sweat. Shall I go on?"

Claude's nose wrinkled.

"It goes without saying that you stink as well. If I let you up, will you promise to behave?"

"I solemnly swear that I am up to no good," he teased.

"Jehan," Claude said warningly.

"All right, fine. I won't leave this room if I can just get some clean sheets. I don't much care for smelling like a pig," Jehan muttered.

Claude fished the key out of his pocket and removed the chains. Jehan rubbed his wrists to get the circulation going in them again. He winced at the chafe marks and looked so pitiful that Claude shook his head.

"We have salves to put there," he promised, "just as soon as you've had a bath."

An hour later, Jehan had been scrubbed from head to toe. The nasty straw in the mattress had been replaced with fresh, clean straw and the sheets changed. With a shaky hand, Jehan managed to feed himself while Claude retrieved some clean clothes for him. Despite his obvious disdain for the monk's habit, Jehan did not say a word.

"Now," Claude said, "we have children about. Watch your language or I'll see to it personally that you never speak again."

"All right," Jehan sighed as though he were a child being chastised, "my language will be as clean as the freshly fallen snow."

"It had better. Stay here and rest for now. I am going to check on the children."

Jehan didn't need a second invitation. He lay down on the bed and went to sleep again within a few minutes of Claude's exit.


	9. Chapter 9

A/N: Chapter 9 in which dear old Claude grows a backbone and lives up to the "Father" title. Thanks for all the positive reviews! My inspiration grows because of you guys!

A couple of days' rest and Claude felt as good as new. He had agreed to take the children into town for a day and they could each choose a gift. There was some sort of festival going on and the streets were loud and chaotic. Esmeralda made sure that the children both had their hair washed and neatly combed. Ginger wore a dress of pale lavender and Andrew wore black trousers and a lavender shirt. Esmeralda wore a pale green dress that flattered the golden tones in her skin and made her eyes appear brighter. Claude had his usual black on, but he was far too busy looking at her to worry about himself. He had even allowed Quasimodo to come along provided that the hunchback wore his hood up at all times and didn't stray from the rest of the group. Quasimodo was so overcome with joy and excitement that he'd bounded around the bell tower like a merry schoolboy shouting "I'm going to town!" over and over.

Claude wondered what he was getting himself into.

It was a relatively simple outing. Esmeralda had a straw basket which she filled with varying pastries and treats from a local vendor. Claude warned her not to feed the children too many sweets or they wouldn't eat their dinner.

"Honestly, sir, you worry too much," Esmeralda teased, "they'll be fine. All this running around will only whet their appetites."

"Fine…when they're running around the cathedral like little heathens, then _you_ can chase them," Claude muttered.

"What's the matter, Claude? Afraid you won't be able to?" Esmeralda teased.

Claude suddenly tensed.

"The guards," he whispered, "go inside _now._" He gestured to a nearby shop. Esmeralda grabbed the children's hands and rushed inside.

What Claude saw next made his blood boil.

Captain Phoebus was heading the lot. On the front of his horse with him was Matilda, a woman who was known for her countless extramarital affairs. Knowing full well he would get himself in trouble, Claude started to walk away, but there was no such luck.

"Ah, Dom Claude Frollo! How are things in the cathedral?" Phoebus asked.

Claude's blue-green eyes blazed with fire.

"Oh, they're well…no thanks to your wandering eyes," Claude hissed, "_and hands._"

A unanimous "ooh" rose up from the other guards. Phoebus looked somewhat puzzled, though Claude was sure it was all an act.

"Why, Your Worship, what ever is the matter? Is the gypsy girl getting in the way? I should be happy to take her off your hands."

The little whore in Phoebus's laugh chuckled prettily. Claude felt red patches blooming on his cheeks.

"Go and get us a drink, dear one," Phoebus told the girl, "it seems that the archdeacon and I have a few things to discuss."

She slid off of the horse and didn't care that her backside was momentarily exposed. The guards all stared with their wolfish eyes and Claude's fury only grew. Phoebus got down next and came forward until he was a mere arm's reach away.

"You lying, traitorous, murderous _wretch!_ Esmeralda nearly died because of you!" Claude roared.

"It was her fault," Phoebus said dismissively, "she stabbed me out of spite because I would not marry her."

Out of the corner of his eye, Claude could see Esmeralda peering out from a crack in the door. He quivered all over from adrenaline. Before he thought about what he was doing, he seized Phoebus by the throat.

"_She_ didn't do it," Claude hissed in his ear, low enough that only Phoebus could hear it, "_I_ did. I'm sorry I didn't manage to kill you the first time and I'd gladly do it again in a heartbeat if it would keep your filthy hands off of her. Either you go before the magistrate and clear her name or I'll see to it that your life becomes the utmost _living Hell._ Think about it, Phoebus, who will the courts believe? The archdeacon of Paris? Or the lowlife lying adulterer who has plenty of skeletons in his closet? Shall I tell them about your attempts to have mere children arrested?"

Phoebus turned as white as a sheet.

"I thought so," Claude muttered, "now, go and take care of it! I shall _know_ if you don't."

Phoebus swallowed hard and nodded. The guards disappeared around the corner very rapidly.

Esmeralda cautiously emerged from the shop.

"The coast is clear," Claude announced triumphantly, "he won't bother us ever again."

Esmeralda's beaming smile was more valuable to him than all the treasures of Heaven itself.

"No one's ever…stood up for me before…" she confessed, "won't you get in trouble with the bishop?"

"There's a slender chance," Claude admitted guiltily, "but it's worth it. I've had to go to confession numerous times to keep from beating him into a bloody pulp."

"Now there's just one more problem," Esmeralda said cheerfully, "the shop you chased us into was a toy shop."

Claude chuckled.

"Oh dear…how many things did they say they simply had to have?"

Right on cue, Ginger and Andrew emerged. Ginger was carrying an elaborately decorated toy horse and Andrew was carrying a curious-looking bar. When he dropped it, it bounced against the cobblestones.

"All the way from India," the shopkeeper said triumphantly, "it's made of rubber."

"How much?" Claude asked, knowing from their smiles that he'd never be able to argue.

"Ten gold crowns for both of them."

Claude counted out the coins and placed them in the shopkeeper's dusty hand.

"Take very good care of them," he cautioned the children, "and don't put them down anywhere."

Both nodded solemnly.

There was a great deal of chaos at the end of the street. Claude and Esmeralda were forced to run towards it because the children disappeared into the crowd. At last, they caught up to both of them. The crowd was watching something at the nearby tavern.

"Get off, you filthy beast!" the ogre-like tavern keeper snarled. He was attempting to unload a barrel of wine when a small black puppy had pounced on the hem of his apron. The funny-looking little creature had hair so long that Claude almost couldn't tell which end was which at first. The puppy growled playfully and continued to jerk at the cheap cloth. Frustrated, the burly man set the barrel down and tore the puppy loose. Holding it by the nape of its neck, he glared at it.

"All right, you little bugger! You asked for it!"

The other hand rapidly ascended towards the puppy's throat. Sensing it was in danger, it let out a pitiful squeal.

"NO!" Ginger wailed. She tore herself loose from Quasimodo's grasp and kicked the bald man right in his knee. He was forced to let go of the little nuisance dog and he said some things that children shouldn't hear. He seized her by the arm and unsheathed his dagger.

"You little brat!" he snarled.

"Let her go!"

Claude marched forward, squaring his shoulders.

"How delightful, the archdeacon!" the man said sarcastically, "Never thought I'd see you on this side of town. Why don't you stick your nose back in your Bible where it belongs!"

He turned back to Ginger who then bit him. With a sharp slap, he knocked her into the mud. Esmeralda snatched her up as the tavern keeper advanced on Claude.

WHUMP!

Claude stared in confusion as the larger man suddenly went staggering backwards. Quasimodo was now standing in front of Claude with his fists raised.

"Big man says bad things to my master and hurts my sister! Big man will pay for that!" Quasimodo snarled.

Claude grabbed Quasimodo's arm with one hand and Esmeralda's with the other. Making sure that they had both children, he very quickly pulled them back towards the safety of the cathedral.

"I think I've had enough of town for one day," he panted uneasily, "I never realized people could be such brutes."

"Not everyone's like that, you know," Esmeralda informed him, "we've just had some bad luck today."

It was a relief to cross the threshold of Notre Dame. His day out had made Claude appreciate the pristine floors and ceilings of the church. One sleeve of his robe was stained with mud from having snatched Ginger to his side. The first thing he did was kneel in front of her.

"Are you all right, little one?"

Still sniffling, she nodded.

"You really should be more careful about picking your battles," he warned her, "he could have really hurt you."

"He was going to hurt that puppy! It only wanted to play!" Ginger protested, her voice high-pitched with tears. Claude took out his handkerchief and wiped her dirty tear-streaked face.

"It's unfortunate that not everyone thinks the way you do," Claude sighed, "God in Heaven knows the world would be a much better place."

"Come on, sweetie," Esmeralda sighed, "let's get you cleaned up."

"We'll be in the bell tower," Claude called after her.

"What will we do there, Master?" Quasimodo asked.

A sparkle lit Claude's eyes.

"You'll see. But I will need your help."

He whispered to Quasimodo who also grinned.

"Now, don't tell," Claude warned as though talking to a child, "it's our little secret."

Just then, an irate cleric stormed into the entrance way.

"Your Worship, I found this little mongrel in the kitchen. I trust you want it removed at once?"

Claude turned around. It was Joseph, the same cleric who had gotten Esmeralda arrested the first time. Claude tolerated Joseph, but he didn't much like him. Joseph was an absolute sourpuss and had the personality of an unripe persimmon. He had been insanely jealous that Claude had gotten the job of archdeacon instead of him and was always trying to one-up Claude.

Perhaps that's why Claude was so amused when a jet of urine pelted the front of Joseph's robes.

"I'll take him," Claude's mouth twisted as he tried not to laugh, "it looks as though you'll need a change of robes."

Joseph stormed off, his dark eyes blazing in annoyance. The puppy wagged its tail as Claude stroked his fuzzy head.

"Nice shot," he whispered, "but please don't make it a habit."


	10. Chapter 10

"I think I prefer seeing Paris from up here," Claude commented, "there aren't as many people to spoil the view."

An hour after their near-disastrous outing had ended, Claude, Esmeralda, Quasimodo, the children, and the mischievous little puppy were up in the bell tower. Quasimodo and Claude had carried an old quilt, a jug of cool water, and a basket of food to a platform that rested between two of the hunched gargoyles. The air was pleasantly cool and there was just enough breeze to make the spot comfortable. They were cast in shadow so that no one could see them and stare, but Paris itself was illuminated by the golden late-afternoon sun. Unwilling to see the day turn into a complete loss, Claude and Quasimodo had set up this picnic. Esmeralda was pleasantly surprised that Claude cared enough for the children to do such a thing—the afternoon alone had cost him precious time and he was behind in his work already. The previous incident with Jehan had also put him very far behind. She had gotten an earful from Joseph earlier before Jacques affectionately told him to "shut that gaping hole in his head and go complain elsewhere". The friendly cleric had regarded her with a cheeky grin and told her not to worry, that he would assist Claude in whatever way he could.

Claude turned to look at the children. Hungry from all the running around, they devoured their meat and bread at rapid pace.

"What are you going to call your new friend?" he asked, gesturing to the mop of a puppy.

Ginger stared at the dog thoughtfully.

"I hope we can teach him to be a guard-dog," she admitted, "when he's old enough. What's the name of something that guards something?"

Immediately, the names of the two archangels came to mind.

"Well," Claude began, "during the battle between God and his angels and Lucifer, there were two angels that wore armor and assisted him in tossing out all of the angels that disobeyed. Their names were Gabriel and Michael."

"He looks like a Gabriel to me," Andrew commented.

The little pup barked merrily. He eagerly wolfed down the scrap of meat that Andrew offered to him.

"See? He likes his name!" Ginger said excitedly.

"Now that we have him named," Claude said, refilling his cup, "there are a few things I need to discuss with you. Since I don't have time to take care of a dog, he is _your_ responsibility. We will help you until you get used to it, but after that, you're on your own. You must teach him to walk outside when he needs to relieve himself, to obey commands, and not to chew on things or bother people. I especially don't want him in my office where he could tear up the papers. Understood?"

They both nodded.

"And teach him only to bark when something's not right, got it?"

They nodded again.

"Who wants dessert?" Esmeralda asked, opening the basket of pastries. The children eagerly pounced on the basket.

"Wait a minute!"

They paused at Claude's sharp tone.

"One each," he told them, "too many sweets at one time will make you sick."

"All right," they sighed in unison before choosing their treats.

After they had eaten their tarts and cleaned their sweet mouths and sticky fingers, everyone helped to clean up and the platform was left as clean as when they had arrived. The children went downstairs to start training their puppy and Claude and Esmeralda took the dinner supplies and dishes back to the kitchen.

"Master makes a good father," Quasimodo commented.

"Thank you, Quasimodo."

Claude's cheeks flamed bright red when Esmeralda gave him a knowing smile.

"You're going to miss them when they're gone, aren't you?" she asked.

"As much as I hate to admit it, yes, I will miss them terribly," Claude confessed, "I've lived for many years with Quasimodo as my only ward and I've forgotten what it was like when he was small and full of innocence. He thinks terribly of himself because of me. I thought I was protecting him, but maybe I wasn't…maybe I was only shielding my own selfish ego."

Esmeralda finished putting things away. They left the hot and stuffy kitchen for the coolness of the entrance way.

"How old were you when you found Quasimodo?" she asked.

Claude frowned, trying to remember.

"I can't remember the exact year I was born," he confessed, "but I estimate that I was nineteen or twenty, just shy of being counted as a full-grown man."

Esmeralda began to count mentally.

"And how long have you known him?"

"It's been roughly twenty-five years, give or take," he said.

Hmm…that placed Quasimodo at being just over adulthood. Claude was somewhere between forty and forty-five, she guessed. Surprise lit her face—she hadn't guessed him to be that old. He didn't look that old to her. His face was very fair-skinned and the sun had not made it leathery or aged. Though he had a few lines around his mouth and a permanent thoughtful crease in his forehead, his skin was much smoother than other men's skin that were his age. His face was completely cleanly shaven all the time which also made him look much younger and his face appeared even more rounded due to the monk's haircut he sported. When he smiled or laughed, the illusion of youth was even more powerful.

As if to answer her thoughts, Claude chuckled.

"You're not the first one to be surprised," he teased her, "even the bishop himself doesn't always take me very seriously and neither does Joseph though I was fully grown before he even left his mother's womb."

She nodded.

"What I was going to say is that you were so young when you first took Quasimodo in," she continued her original thought, "and really, who doesn't have their selfish thoughts at that age?"

Claude was busy studying a pattern in one of the stained glass windows.

"I suppose I wrongly think I am immune to it," he confessed, "here at this cathedral, we fall into this infernal trap of thinking we are somehow stronger than regular men when we really aren't. Taking vows of chastity and poverty don't make us any better than the beggar or the drunk on the street."

Esmeralda was vaguely surprised. Had she just witnessed an epiphany of his character?

"Why, then, are my people so often persecuted by yours? Why are we not allowed to enter this building and claim sanctuary like the rest? Why is it that some can look at us, merely a look, and assume we're up to no good?"

She hadn't meant to speak so harshly, but it slipped out of her mouth before she even tasted the words on her own tongue. Claude winced visibly, but he did not seem defensive.

"I was just thinking about that yesterday," he admitted, "and you're right."

Esmeralda was truly shocked. She never dreamed she'd hear those words from the high and mighty archdeacon. Had it really been just a short season ago when he'd stood there, brutal and imposing in his blood-colored robes in the courtroom? On the outside, he had not changed, but it was as though the cruel and obsessive soul on his inside had been torn away and replaced with a different soul: more human….perhaps one that actually could love others.

"Really?" she was stunned.

"Men are not known for their patience and their understanding," Claude said, "take Jesus, for example. He loved both the criminals and the pious equally. He did great miracles and his very touch could send the Holy Spirit into someone and heal them as if they had never been afflicted. It was neither the broken, the lame, the possessed, or the sinful that betrayed him; it was the crowd of people that _should_ have loved him and welcomed him the most."

Esmeralda glanced at the stained glass window depicting Jesus on the cross. She had heard mention of his name, but she knew very little of him otherwise.

"What happened to him?" she asked.

"They captured him after one of his own betrayed him," Claude explained, "he knew it was coming and he said it would have to happen if the world itself were to be saved from its own cruel and terrible acts. The religious people of the day questioned him and asked if he was truly the Son of God. When he answered truthfully, they claimed that he was being blasphemous and they tortured him. Pontius Pilate, the man responsible for the decisions as to what to do with him, realized it was the time of year to release one prisoner. He knew that Jesus had done nothing wrong and asked the crowd to choose between Jesus and another prisoner. The crowd chose the other and told him to crucify Jesus. He died an absolutely horrible death at the hands of his own people."

Esmeralda studied the image.

"How does the cross kill him?" she asked.

"There were nails in his hands and feet. Part of it was blood loss," Claude explained, "the other part was suffocation. The way the weight of his body is distributed, his lungs couldn't work properly. It didn't take very long…he bowed his head and asked God to forgive those people, then his last words were 'it is finished'. He is the only man known to defeat the grave itself."

"How dreadful…"

Esmeralda's fingers grazed the streaks of bright red on the glass.

"We are supposed to teach the world how to live," Claude sighed, "and I forget sometimes that we fail so miserably at it. He wouldn't have wanted us to be so hard on each other, to throw people onto the hangman's platforms for petty crimes. Each time we cast someone out because they don't look or act a certain way, we may as well be nailing him to the cross all over again."

"And who is this?"

Esmeralda gestured to the statue of Mary.

"That," Claude said, "is the Virgin Mary. She was Jesus's earthly mother, the one that kept him safe in her womb and cared for him until it was time for him to fulfill his purpose here on Earth. See this inscription, there on the base?"

The strange markings there meant absolutely nothing to her.

"I don't know what it says," she lamented, "can you read it to me?"

"It is Latin for 'Mother of All'," he said, "I really must teach you and the children how to read."

She gave him another surprised look.

"I have always been told that women can't read," she explained.

"Nonsense. You have eyes and brains, haven't you? And fingers with which to turn the pages with?"

She nodded, somewhat disbelieving. Yes, the archdeacon was still full of surprises…just when she thought she knew him, he said things like that!

"Not now," Claude lamented, "I have quite a bit of work to catch up on, but soon, I promise. Then, you can read all about Jesus, Mary, and God."

He disappeared in a fluttering of dark robes and she stared at the giant, dusty tome on the pulpit. She thumbed through pages that had elaborate detailing and more of the strange symbols. Some of the pictures she examined were drawn very lovingly…her fingers traced over the flowing lines. This book must have taken years to create. Soon, all of its secrets would be revealed to her.

_You have eyes and brains, don't you?_ Claude's voice echoed in her ears. Indeed, this was most unusual. Women were not allowed to participate in religious matters most of the time, much less permitted to read about them. She wondered how much of his own neck he was willing to risk for her.

"He really _does_ love me," she whispered in fascination.

"I should think that would be quite obvious."

Startled, she looked up. Jehan was sitting on one of the pews. She must have totally missed him in the dim light.

"I see the way he looks at you," Jehan said with a sly smile, "if he can't keep you for himself, he wants to ensure that you can take care of yourself. Yes…he's seen something in you that shines like a beacon. The only other person he's ever made an offer like that to was Quasimodo and even then he gave up trying several years ago when the poor old thing went deaf."

"How do you know? You've only been here a few days," Esmeralda commented.

"That skulking old alley-cat Joseph told me," Jehan said, "it's really a pity he's got the personality of a dried-up prune. He'd complain to a stone gargoyle if he thought it would listen."

Esmeralda couldn't help but laugh hysterically.

"I'm not sure what frightens the children more," Jehan continued, "those gargoyles on the roof or his homely face!"

"AHEM!"

Esmeralda's laughter stopped abruptly though the smile remained. Joseph himself had emerged from a side door and was fuming.

"I'll have you know that I am one of the bishop's most trusted officials and you WILL treat me with some respect!" Joseph snarled.

"Oh, lighten up, will you? Men like you are precisely the reason I think that chastity vows are a bunch of rubbish," Jehan teased, "no wonder you're the way you are. If I never got to get out of this place and have some fun, I'd be a miserable wretch just like you!"

"How DARE you speak to me that way?" Joseph hissed, obviously angered, "You're lucky that Claude is so much easier on you than you deserve! If I'd had it my way, you'd have a nice long stay in the dungeon!"

"And if I had it my way, you'd have been born without a tongue," Jehan said casually.

Obviously bested and lacking for comments, Joseph could only sputter for a moment.

"You drunken, lazy, pigheaded lout!"

Jehan's grin only widened.

"Oh, impressive dear cleric," he said humorously, "all three of my nicknames on the street in one insult. I'm sure you can do better than that if you would get your crucifix out of your—"

Esmeralda gasped but she was shrieking with laughter. Claude had reappeared to see why there was so much shouting in the sanctuary.

"Jehan, that's quite enough," he said sternly, "stop insulting my clerics or I will be forced to throw you out. Joseph, there's rather distraught woman waiting for a confession in the next room. I am rather busy at the moment, so I trust you can handle it?"

Joseph glared at Jehan and gave a curt nod to Claude.

"I'll take care of it at once, Your Worship," he said with false calmness and respect. His façade was ruined by the obvious stomping that echoed down the hallway.

"It appears as though you need a job to keep you out of trouble," Claude said firmly, "I cannot have you causing discord in my sanctuary. I want you to clean it from floor to ceiling."

"But that will take _days_," Jehan lamented.

"Then I suggest you get started. Quasimodo will show you where the supplies are."

"Serves you right," they heard Joseph mutter.

"Oh, Joseph, are you still there?" Claude called, "Come here, please."

Joseph slunk forward like dog with its tail between its legs.

"When you are finished with the woman's confession," Claude said calmly, "you will assist Jehan. We've been rather shorthanded lately and we can't let these tasks go undone for too long."

Joseph's mouth fell open.

"Your Worship, you can't be serious!" he spluttered.

Claude's lips held the slightest ghost of a smile.

"Oh, but I am. Those windows get terribly dusty sometimes," he said, "the cathedral is our home and you live here now. We must work together and take care of it properly. The house of God has no business collecting cobwebs and discontent."

With that, he was off. Esmeralda left as well so that she could shriek with laughter without being overheard. The twinkle in Claude's eyes had made it impossible for her to keep a straight face. It reminded her of a father chastising two feuding sons!


	11. Chapter 11

"Over-religious bigot," Jehan spat.

"Filthy drunk," answered Joseph with equal venom.

"Claude must have lost his mind to let the likes of _you_ in here," Joseph spat, scrubbing furiously at a window.

"I'm more surprised that he didn't give you the sack," Jehan replied as he swept the floor with vigor.

"At least my brains aren't drowned in wine," Joseph muttered.

"What's the matter with you, anyway? You act like you have a cross up your ass," Jehan said triumphantly.

"At least I'm clean on the inside," Joseph snapped, "you _still_ smell like sweating pig."

Jehan was stirring up a cloud of dust with the straw broom.

"At least I do sweat, dear cleric. You look as though you've _never_ broken a sweat in your life."

Joseph glared down at him with dark eyes.

"I _work_ for my coins, my shelter, and my food unlike _somebody_ in this room!" he returned fire.

"And I'll bet you don't enjoy any of it," Jehan said crisply, "because you never close your mouth long enough to chew. It's like you're afraid you'll explode if you're not complaining. Maybe you should shut up once in a while and see what happens…you would probably either explode or fart like a pig that's eaten too much."

His vision momentarily blurred when the scrub-brush smacked him in the side of the head. Joseph turned back around to wipe the window dry with a rag, but he yelped when the ladder swayed violently.

"You _wouldn't_ dare," he said venomously to a grinning Jehan.

"Try me," Jehan said slyly.

The ladder swayed again and Jehan scrambled into the sill of the window to keep from falling. His robes were wet from the puddles that had collected there.

"NO!" he howled when Jehan removed the ladder and carried it to the other side of the room.

"Maybe a night up there will adjust your nasty attitude," Jehan said triumphantly, "I'll just tell Claude you were working late. The others will understand if I say the sanctuary is being cleaned and not to take shortcuts through it."

"You wouldn't!" Joseph yelped, horrified.

Jehan grinned.

"Good night, Joseph…don't fall off the sill…you might end up like Humpty Dumpty."

He skipped to the large double doors like a child and closed them with a snap. The room was just large enough that no one could hear Joseph yelling for help.

As expected, Claude was late getting to dinner. He had just gotten his full plate when everyone else was nearly halfway finished. Jacques was there as well with ink-stained fingers and was still scrubbing at them with his handkerchief. Both of the men were looking rather run-down.

"It's been a very long day," Claude mumbled, answering Esmeralda's thoughts, "a _very_ long day."

He looked up at Jehan, who was chewing away, innocent as a kitten.

"Where's Joseph?" Claude inquired.

"He's working late," Jehan said with a completely straight face, "he seemed rather intent on getting those stained glass windows done."

Something seemed amiss, but Claude couldn't put his finger on it.

"All right…" he said slowly, "but please be so kind as to take him something to eat."

"Of course, brother."

Jehan left. Since his back was turned, Claude couldn't see the amused smile that Jehan wore. Very dutifully, he went to the kitchen and retrieved some food for Joseph, then swaggered out the door.

Esmeralda chuckled.

"He's up to something," Ginger said, reading Claude's mind, "he only smiles like that when he is."

"I wonder if it has something to do with Joseph's absence…" Claude commented.

"Are you going to go check on him?" Esmeralda asked.

"No."

She nearly spit her juice across the table.

"You're _not?_"

The children burst into giggles upon seeing Claude's expression. For the first time they'd ever seen, his own face mirrored Jehan's sly smile.

"As you know," he said in his "preacher" voice, " we are called to love all others as ourselves. Suffice it to say that Joseph makes it a rather large trial most of the time. For just now, I'll let him fend for himself. Jehan may be a trickster, but I assure you that I don't _think_ he'd harm Joseph in any way…his style seems more along the lines of shame."

The children were both roaring with laughter and Esmeralda herself was chuckling. Even Gabriel the puppy was dancing around under the table with his little stumpy black tail wagging.

"Now," Claude said, returning to his old, serious self, "finish your dinners and make sure that Gabriel gets his walk. The sun will be down shortly and I don't want you outside after dark."

"Then can we find out what Jehan did?" Andrew asked.

"I'm not even sure I want to know," Claude confessed, his blue-green eyes sparkling vividly, "but yes, we'll try to find him."

The search was planned to take place after the children took Gabriel for his evening walk. Claude and Esmeralda accompanied them since children were prime targets in dim light for trouble. The night was clear and cool. He didn't appear to be in the slightest hurry to go back inside.

"Why, Your Worship, are you stalling?" Esmeralda teased.

"Maybe," came the equally teasing reply.

They reached the sanctuary at a very leisurely pace. Jehan, of course, was waiting for them.

"Jehan, why is the door locked?" Claude asked nonchalantly.

"Is it really? I hadn't noticed."

Jehan gave them a cheeky grin.

"Give me the key," Claude said as if coaxing a child to hand over a toy.

"Fine. Here."

Jehan gave him the skeleton key. Claude unlocked the door and stepped inside.

"Your Worship!" the whine came.

"Joseph, where exactly are you?" Claude called.

"Up here," the meek whimper came.

Claude looked up to see Joseph cowering on the windowsill, red-faced and embarrassed that Jehan had gotten the better of him.

"What in Heaven's name are you doing up there?" Claude asked.

"Your precious _brother_ took my ladder!" Joseph snapped.

Jehan didn't even attempt to deny it.

"Get the ladder, Jehan," Claude said calmly as though he were Jehan's father rather than his brother.

"Oh, I'll give this greasy git the latter," Jehan said coolly, "_if_ he agrees to a couple of conditions."

"What do you want from me?" Joseph sounded very exasperated. Judging by the sudden rumble of his gut, Claude guessed that the food Jehan had promised to bring him had somehow ended up in a detour.

"First, stop treating me like I'm a sewer rat," Jehan said, "I don't appreciate it at all. Second, stop treating my niece and nephew and dog like they're a great nuisance to you. And third, stop being so disrespectful to Esmeralda. You will treat her like the lady she is."

Joseph looked as though he were being asked to eat a cockroach.

"Fine," he said through gritted teeth, "I swear to all of the above. Now _please_ get the ladder."

Jehan raised an eyebrow.

"Impressive," he said as he strode across the room, "it actually has manners!"

Claude stifled a laugh in his sleeve. Rearranging his expression into a totally straight face, he watched as Jehan placed the ladder against the wall. Ever so cautiously, Joseph got down.

"I'm not doing any more of the windows," he announced to Claude before walking away.

Claude turned to Jehan.

"I suppose it would be pointless to ask if that was really necessary," he said, no longer disguising his amused expression.

"Oh, dear archdeacon of a brother," Jehan sighed, "it was as necessary as air, shelter, food, and water. I've been wanting to give that little bugger a kick in the posterior region of his robes since I got here. All he did while I was strapped helplessly to the bed was go on and on about how I deserved it and how I was surely destined for Hell. Then he had the nerve to say that you intended to take Esmeralda to your bed and that you were crazed with lust. He actually thinks he could do better than you!"

Jehan gave a derisive snort.

"As if I believe that rubbish. You may be an insufferable know-it-all at times, but you at least have good intentions for others."

Claude raised an eyebrow. A chain of emotions flicked through his face—anger and resentment at Joseph and intense gratitude for Jehan.

"Yes," Jehan said casually, "I actually do believe you can do great things for Paris…even though I tease you all the time. You have been the only person that expected more of me than drunkenness."

Esmeralda's eyes brimmed with bittersweet tears as the brothers embraced.

"Th-thank you, Jehan," Claude choked out, "that means a great deal to me."

"The truth is the truth. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have some work to do."

Jehan took up his broom and began to sweep again.

"He sings much better when he's sober," Esmeralda joked.

"That he does," Claude muttered, "now if we could only harness that energy of his for productive things."


	12. Chapter 12

The streets of Paris seemed mostly content in the darkness. Wives tucked their children into bed while the husbands were kicking back in their comfortable chairs. The town drunkards and womanizers were acquiring their wine, their late-night dinners, and the appreciation of the tavern-keepers. The seedy inn at the end of the street was welcome to even the most vile dregs of society.

How odd, then, that a dark, flowing monk's habit appeared amongst them all.

"Hey, sweetie. Peel off that robe of yours and I can show you an even better time than your Heaven," one of the prostitutes said suggestively as her ample breasts threatened to spill out of her bodice.

The mouth was the only thing she could see clearly and it frowned in disgust.

"No? Well, I believe you're in the wrong side of town, then," she sighed.

"I'm looking for the captain of the guards," the man in the monk's habit said, "I believe his name is 'Phoebus'. Have you seen him?"

The prostitute sighed and ran her fingers through her wild strawberry blonde curls. Her green eyes glittered with greed.

"I can't remember…" she said, her full lips pursing in fake concentration, "…if only I had a reason…"

The man under the hood sighed irritably and shook his coin purse attached to his belt.

"Would five crowns enhance your memory?" he asked.

"Ten. I'm not running a charity, you know." Her sensuous voice had suddenly developed a firmness when she realized that she would be deprived of a client tonight.

"Fine. Ten crowns it is. But first, tell me where he is."

The prostitute gestured up the stairs.

"He went up there. I think it's the third door to the left—there was a woman in there with him, but she's gone now. She seemed to be in a right state when she left…absolutely fuming. If you ask me, it must have been worth it. She wasn't exactly screaming with anger when that door was closed if you get my meaning."

"Well, thank you. You've been most helpful."

He started to walk off.

"What about my money?" The girl was suddenly angry.

"In case you haven't noticed, it is against my way of life to pay a whore for _anything._"

"You bloody thief! I'll have your balls cut off with a dull axe!" she snarled, rushing towards him. With a rough shove, she had tumbled over a chair and her womanhood was showing to the whole tavern. The "monk" shuddered in disgust and continued up the stairs.

"Phoebus, you open this door at once!" he hissed, tapping on it.

A very flushed Phoebus answered the door. The "monk" wrinkled his nose—he smelled like sex and it wasn't at all a good smell to him.

"Who are you and what do you want?" he asked, sounding irritated that his glorious afterglow had been interrupted.

"Let me inside first. I can't let my face be seen."

Phoebus sighed and stepped aside. Sure that the door was secure, the "monk" pulled back his hood.

"Joseph? What in the bloody hell…?" Phoebus trailed off.

Joseph pressed a finger to his lips.

"Quiet! Do you want someone to hear?" he hissed.

"What do you want?" Phoebus asked.

"I know we're not on the best of terms," Joseph said, "but I require a little assistance with something and I can make it worth your while."

Phoebus appeared unconvinced.

"You want that miserable archdeacon out of your way, do you not?"

Phoebus shrugged.

"I don't much care for Claude Frollo, but it hardly seems right to kill him," the soldier said, "and all of Paris would notice if he disappeared."

"Exactly. But are you really going to let him get away with that? Rumor has it that he threatened to kill you if you didn't clear Esmeralda's name!"

The wheels started to turn in Phoebus's head.

_Oh, how easily manipulated this dolt is…_Joseph thought, _come on, come on…_

"He humiliated you," Joseph pressed, "and even though the other guards didn't exactly hear what he said, it wasn't hard to guess, was it? They're all talking about it right now…poor old Phoebus, once so muscular, strong, brave, and manly bested by a…well….a monk. A thin, willowy, soft little man who isn't exactly getting any younger."

Irritation showed on Phoebus's face. Joseph suppressed a grin—he was almost there.

"Even the ladies have heard of it," Joseph sighed, "…some of them have even developed an interest in Frollo after he so _bravely_ bested the captain."

Phoebus took the bait.

"What did you have in mind?" he asked, obviously aggravated.

"Easy. I should have gotten the archdeacon position. I'm certain that I would have been the bishop's second choice—I should have been the only choice. Claude was chosen simply because he was a few years older. I can get Claude, Esmeralda, and their cursed brats out of the cathedral if you will take care of the rest."

"All right…you get archdeacon and what do I get for my troubles?" Phoebus asked.

"Easy. You can do whatever you like to Claude and I shall turn a blind eye. The gypsy girl is also yours to keep—I can also keep everyone off of you for that. The children…well…dispose of them. They are of no use to either one of us. Have them kidnapped by gypsies if you want, or drown them. It matters not to me. Oh, and I want their demon-spawned puppy to be dead—period."

Phoebus sat there and thought a moment.

"Hmm…no archdeacon breathing down my neck about my personal life, the most beautiful woman in Paris in my bed, the chance to finally put those brats where they belong…surely there has to be a catch?"

"No catch," Joseph promised, "just the freedom to do as you like. And in case you need to enlist some 'help', take this."

Joseph handed him the coin purse. It felt heavy in Phoebus's hands.

"Where did you get this kind of money?" he couldn't help but asking.

"Oh, I've stashed a few coins away each time the offering is collected at Mass," Joseph said coyly, "my over-extended brother never notices two or three crowns missing and he _never_ notices the smaller coins gone."

"I'll be damned," Phoebus said, obviously surprised, "you're not half as stupid as you look."

Joseph gave him a Look.

"I'm going to pretend that was a compliment. Stay where I can find you this week."

"Fine," Phoebus said, "but I'm not opposed to slitting your throat if you bother me at night."

Joseph rolled his eyes.

"Right. You need me, you insufferable beefhead—I know that the King himself had your wages garnished for several years due to you deflowering his daughter. You're lucky you didn't get the hangman's noose."

Phoebus slammed the door behind Joseph with a snap.

"Honestly…" he sighed to himself, "if I just didn't hate that little sniveling weasel so much, I might actually like working with him."

Joseph slunk off into the night.

"That insufferable man-whore…I do hope Satan burns his manhood to a crisp," he muttered. He drew in a deep breath before entering the cathedral. A choked gasp erupted from his throat.

"Joseph! What's the matter? You look as if you've seen a ghost," Claude commented.

Joseph clutched a hand to his pounding heart.

"I-I didn't hear you c-coming down the s-stairs," he stuttered lamely.

"What are you doing out so late? It's nearly time for bed," Claude said in a rather fatherly fashion.

"I was feeling…queasy…so I stepped out for some fresh air," Joseph sighed.

"In that hood? Wasn't it awfully hot for that cloak?"

"What are you, my father? I felt chilled, all right?" Joseph roared.

Claude raised an eyebrow.

"In the technical sense, I _am_ your father, Joseph, though we've run Notre Dame together for the last several months. I was only concerned that you might fall ill soon."

"Sorry," Joseph muttered as though he were a disgruntled teenager being forced to apologize.

"Quite all right…now, is there something you'd like to tell me?"

_Just that I paid that filthy Phoebus to kill you, the children, the dog, and to bed Esmeralda…_

"N-no…"

Claude seemed unconvinced.

"Joseph, you can trust me. Whatever it is, it cannot possibly be that bad."

_Oh, yes it can…let's start with 'thou shalt not kill….'_

"I think that I'm just very tired," Joseph lied, "and I would like to go to bed now."

Claude nodded his assent.

"See you in the morning."

"Good night," Joseph said stiffly.

Claude watched Joseph slam his door closed and shook his head in puzzlement. Fatigue was creeping up on him and it was making him a little jumpy.

_I need sleep…for a moment, I actually thought Joseph had done something wrong…_ Claude thought.

None of them had been aware of the dark shadowy figure in the dark shadows of the bell tower.


	13. Chapter 13

"That little sniveling shrew's up to something," Jehan commented to Esmeralda, "I seen him coming from the Hog's Tail Inn—no man with half an ounce of respectability would set foot in that place. I ought to know—I was there enough."

"But how do you know it's Joseph?" Esmeralda asked as they watched the figure moving towards Notre Dame's steps.

"Oh, it's him, all right. Watch—he's about to lower his hood."

Sure enough, Joseph had let his hood down.

"Amazing…but how did you know it was him?" she asked.

"I've seen the way he moves when we were stuck cleaning the sanctuary together," Jehan said, "he slinks like a cowardly dog. See?"

She nodded. Joseph disappeared as he got too close for them to see without looking straight down.

"What do you think he's been doing?" she asked.

"Don't know, but that's when they're the most dangerous," Jehan said, "I'd wager it had something to do with my dear, naïve, trusting brother."

"Should we tell Claude?" Esmeralda asked.

"It couldn't hurt, though he's unlikely to believe us," Jehan admitted, "he'd sooner believe Joseph could crap Gabriel's trumpet out of his ass than that Joseph would ever harm him."

Esmeralda chuckled. Jehan's visuals, though usually very disturbing, were rather amusing at times.

"Now?" she asked.

"Nah. If Claude isn't asleep yet, he's close to it. Probably hugging a pillow and wishing it was you."

Esmeralda flushed deeply. She somehow felt as though she had violated Claude by having the image pop up into her brain.

"Ah, don't blush so much! You know it's true!" Jehan teased, "And I'm starting to think you fancy him as well."

"Me…in love with the archdeacon? That sounds a little far-fetched," Esmeralda denied it.

"Not really," Jehan said, slipping between the covers on his bed, "I almost married a nun once…then some stuffy old matron of the convent got her terrified of the marriage bed and pregnancy. How's that for a Mother-In-Law?"

Esmeralda smothered her laugh in her hands. She was laying in the other bed. The two children shared a bed nearby.

"Good night, my lady. The sooner you get used to the idea, the easier it will be. And at least Claude respects you, if you catch my drift."

Jehan fell asleep with a series of soft snores

Esmeralda, however, continued to lay awake for quite some time. Three months, she estimated, maybe four. Things certainly had changed…she longer looked like a starving waif. The regular intake of food and the variation between meat, vegetables, fruit, and bread had made her subtle curves fill out. She no longer looked like a dancing skeleton, but a real dancer. Her hair had become more glossy and she no longer had to coat it with oils to make men's heads turn. As often as he could, Claude set aside evenings by the fireplace to teach them how to read and write and she could understand small words and arithmetic. It was unusual, very unusual, for a priest to encourage a woman to learn, but he did. In fact, he pushed her rather relentlessly. As she'd progressed, she was almost sorry to see the letters she scratched into the coating of wax disappear as he melted it and smoothed it for her to keep practicing. He had informed them all that this was the way he'd learned to read and write and that they could try ink and paper when their hands had gotten more steady.

_"There is a great deal of knowledge in this library," he had said while she copied the print out of a book, "and I believe that God Himself has revealed it to us over time. The only true heresy is when people forget who made it all, who gave us the ability to use our brains. Intelligence mixed with humility makes a very powerful being."_

_ She had learned many, many things from him. She was learning Greek and Latin as well as how to read and write in French. Claude also encouraged her to learn English, as many of the travelers that stopped by only spoke English. He taught her simple arithmetic and they had started on history recently. Most, if not all, of his teachings somehow tied in with the Bible itself and she knew many of the stories by heart. _

_ "You know, I just thought of something," Esmeralda said as she finished the last line, "have you ever thought of being a teacher?"_

_ "I do that already," he reminded her._

_ "No, really…I meant teaching children. Pierre tried to teach me to read a few times, but he lost his patience…he is a gifted poet, but not a very good teacher. Ginger and Andrew are enjoying their lessons as well…they talk to Quasimodo all the time about the things they've learned and he enjoys the company as well. They help him with his chores just so they can keep talking."_

_ The warmth in Claude's smile rivaled that of the firelight_.

She remembered watching his hands when he first began to teach her how to write. Slender and cautious, she watched his eyes lock onto the paper with intense concentration. He made it look easy…his letters were an elegant, slanting series of marks. He'd given her a page with all the letters and numbers so that she could practice in her spare time without him. The mold with the wax and the carved wooden stylus had become her constant companions through the day when she had some spare time. When she didn't have those items or couldn't melt all the wax down due to other obligations, she dipped her finger in various things and wrote on different surfaces. Claude had been very amused when he found her own clumsy, scrawling print traced into a coating of dust on the floor once. The very first thing he had taught her to write was her own name. He beamed like a proud parent when she slowly but surely scratched "ESMERALDA" into the wax.

There were other things she noticed as well. He had truly become a father to Ginger and Andrew. Though he could be very strict at times, he never struck either of them and almost never shouted (unless they were in immediate danger). When they fell and scraped a knee or an elbow, he was always there to mop away the trickle of blood and hold them until they forgot the pain. Just recently, he had taken to kissing them both on the forehead at bedtime and tucking them in. Ginger and Andrew hardly ever called him "sir" anymore and sometimes "Father Claude" was shortened simply to "Father". A new relationship was also developing with Jehan…Claude was beginning to relax a little around him as well. Jehan made a very good uncle to the children and often kept them occupied when Claude was busy. Jehan himself barely knew how to read or write and so the children were teaching him as they learned.

She remembered the scars under Claude's yards of black fabric. In her mind, she traced over them. Things had been so awkward…she wished she could erase those scars for good. She remembered the nights that Jehan had been ill from alcohol withdrawal and Claude's intense frustrations. Jehan, she knew, had opened doors to Claude's heart that he probably thought sealed up tightly.

And if she left, would they seal? How long would it take Claude to forget her, if ever? For that matter, how long would it take her to forget him? Life at the cathedral wasn't glamorous…they all had to work together to make it run. The attitudes of people like Joseph were less than encouraging, but the sour ones were fewer and farther between. Most of the clergy liked Esmeralda and the children and smiled and spoke pleasantly to them. Sometimes the men would even get in on the children's games if they weren't busy. Still, there was food, shelter, and love. Sometimes she missed her gypsy friends, but she didn't miss living underground, starving, or wondering what tomorrow would bring.

She suddenly realized it would be very, very hard to go back.

Claude…

She would miss his smile, his constant look of surprise when he found something new out about her or the children. She would miss his guiding hand on her shoulder as they'd gone through dark places. She would miss the strength and the genuine-ness of the rare hugs they'd shared.

She would miss his ocean-colored eyes and the way they expressed so much more, even when the rest of his face was a still, stone mask of indifference.

She would even miss his smell. He spent so much time by the fireplace reading that he often had a faint tinge of ash to his scent. There was also the simple soap he bathed in, and then there was his true smell…it was a warm smell similar to baking bread, but better.

Esmeralda visibly flinched.

_Oh, Jehan…why did you have to say that out loud?_ She wondered to herself in the dark…_Now you've got me thinking and alone with my thoughts is a very dangerous place to be._

She felt slightly guilty before going to sleep for pretending that the pillow wedged between her back and the cold stone wall was Claude.

Claude had stripped away his black robes. Clad only in his underpants, he took a damp rag and gave himself a little sponge-bath. It was too much trouble to have a tub brought in every single day, but he preferred to stay as clean as he could. There was a knock at the door.

"Who's there?" he asked, slightly annoyed.

"Only me," Jacques called.

Claude lifted the latch and Jacques let himself in.

"You're up awfully late," Claude commented.

"As are you. You go first," Jacques teased.

"I couldn't sleep. Something doesn't feel right…my insides keep twisting, but nothing appears out of the ordinary," Claude admitted, "I had the strangest feeling when I ran into Joseph a moment ago."

"Oh, good, I wasn't imagining it," Jacques commented, closing the door behind him. Claude wrung his rag out before gently scrubbing the back of his neck and behind his ears.

"I'm listening," he said patiently.

For a moment, there was only the sound of trickling water as Claude washed his face.

"He came from a rather seedy side of town," Jehan said, "I saw him coming from the third-story windows. And I saw Captain Phoebus lurking about as well."

Claude paused in the midst of his splashing.

"Phoebus? What reason does Phoebus have to be out here? Shouldn't he be guarding the palace?"

Jacques tossed Claude a clean towel.

"That's what I'd like to know. Jehan's hackles are raised—he's never liked Joseph anyway, but he doesn't strike me as an overly suspicious being. Joseph seems awfully jumpy as of late."

"You think he's up to something," Claude summarized as he dried off.

"Frankly, yes. You know I don't hand out accusations easily," Jacques said in an almost pleading tone, "but something's happened and I wouldn't put it past him."

Claude finished drying off. Jacques handed him his night-shirt.

"As your best friend, please do be careful," Jacques told him, "I really don't like the look of things. And Esmeralda and the children…I've grown rather fond of them and I know you have as well. I would hate for anything to happen to any of them. I only wish that we were allowed to marry for your sake…"

That stopped Claude in his tracks. Marriage?

He sighed deeply.

"I cannot ever hope to marry her," he said, a pang rushing through his heart, "the only way I could do so would be to leave…"

"You mean transfer?" Jacques asked sarcastically. He was trying to lighten the mood, but it didn't work.

"No, and you know perfectly well that it isn't that simple," Claude said irritably, "I would have to leave the priesthood. Really, what have I got to offer her then? At least now she's under my protection and so are those children. If I surrender my title, we'd have no money, no place to go, no means of making a living. I know how to read and write and sometimes heal people if the illness isn't too severe, but I know nothing of farming or raising animals or any other such occupation…"

"Yes, you do! You helped start that wonderful garden in the back," Jacques reminded him.

"That was different, Jacques…we were all working together," Claude reminded him, "I'm not sure I could do it all myself. Running a cathedral is all I know how to do…and even then, sometimes I question that ability."

Jacques put a hand on his friend's slumped shoulder.

"Weren't you always the one who told me that God would provide to those in need? Didn't you tell me time and time again that all things are possible with Our Lord and Savior? Whatever happened to that man?"

Despite Claude's frustration, he couldn't help but smile.

"He got himself knocked out cold when Esmeralda came along," Claude joked, "and now she's holding him for ransom."

Jacques chuckled.

"Don't worry…you'll know what to do when the time comes. You simply have to believe it. If you don't believe it, who will?"

A thought suddenly occurred to Claude.

"Jacques, could you do me a favor?"

"Anything you want."

"If something should happen to me, would you take my place as archdeacon? Would you keep Esmeralda and the children safe? And Quasimodo?"

Jacques gave a bow.

"I would be honored to," he said humbly, "and I will defend them all with my life."

"Thank you." Claude hugged him tightly.

"We should get it all in writing," Jacques suggested, "just as a safety measure. If Joseph knows he cannot have your title, he might be less tempted."

"I'd rather him not know about this," Claude admitted, "he might come after you as well."

Jacques tipped his head forward.

"As you wish. I swear not to breathe a word to anyone unless you tell me to."

"Go get some rest," Claude told him, "we have a big day ahead of us tomorrow."

It was easier said than done. Claude and Jacques, though in their separate cells, both lay awake and watched the moon move through the sky. The hours chimed away on the grandfather clock in the hallway. Eventually, a dark cloud of drowsiness swallowed him up and he succumbed to it gratefully.


	14. Chapter 14

"I'm so bored," Ginger sighed, watching the rain beat against the glass, "there's nothing to do when it's raining."

"Better not let Father hear you say that," Andrew commented innocently, "he'll find you something to do."

"Why don't you play with Gabriel?" Quasimodo asked.

"He's sleeping," Ginger sighed, "he always sleeps when it rains and he never wants to play."

Quasimodo glanced over at the puppy, who was spread out over an old worn-out cushion.

"We've read most of the smaller books in the library already," Ginger said, "and we can't start on the bigger ones because they're too heavy to get off the shelves. Father said those were too hard for us. He won't let us play with organ because it makes too much noise."

"He's been so grumpy lately," Andrew muttered, "I wonder what's wrong with him."

It had been raining straight down for a week at least without stopping. In many ways, the rain had been a blessing because it washed away the stench from the alleyways and made the whole city cleaner. Crops would grow nicely and be ready to harvest in the fall. In many ways, however, the rain was a curse. And the children had noticed that Claude's temper had been quite short. He seemed distracted and distant most of the time and scolded them for trivial matters. Afterward, he almost always apologized, but they were careful around him now. Esmeralda especially noticed the change in attitude and grew more and more concerned. She noticed that Claude had been skipping a lot of meals as well and had lost some unnecessary weight. His robes hung more loosely and he had taken to pacing around Notre Dame like a brooding wolf. Jacques hadn't meant to, but he'd startled Claude badly one night after appearing out of the shadows soundlessly and Claude gave him the worst tongue-lashing he'd ever received.

"Good grief, Claude, I didn't frighten you on purpose! You're acting as though I've murdered somebody!"

At the word _murder_, Claude turned away from Jacques as the bile rose in his throat. Swallowing down the bitterness, he shuddered and pressed his face against the cold glass. It soothed his feverish skin and helped to ease his thundering heart. Outside, the thunder rumbled loudly to match the roaring inside his soul.

"Claude…" Jacques whispered, laying a hand on his friend's shoulder.

"Jacques, please go away…just go…" Claude's voice was strained.

"All right," Jacques said softly. He reluctantly turned the corner and Claude was left standing there by himself.

"Claude Frollo! What has gotten into you?"

Claude nearly jumped out of his skin again. Esmeralda stood there with her hands on her hips, her candle on a nearby table.

"Don't do that," he hissed angrily, "I don't think my heart can take much more of it."

"Something's been bothering you for the last few days and I demand to know what it is," she said forcefully.

He had seen her afraid of him. He had seen her sad, seen her happy, nervous, and excited. But seeing her angry was something new entirely. Her green eyes almost glowed in the dark.

"You have been an absolute bear lately and it's not like you to snap at everyone," she scolded, "the children keep asking me if they've done something wrong because you won't spend time with them."

His shoulders hunched and the horror of having upset her made him go cold inside.

"You wouldn't understand," he lamented, hating how weak and shaky they sounded.

_Absolutely pathetic…_he thought, _was there ever a thinner excuse than that?_

"I wouldn't? This has something to do with Joseph, doesn't it?"

Claude went from ashen pale to blood-faced with shame. Again, he had underestimated this incredible woman. Unable to speak for fear of making himself look worse, he nodded.

"I thought so. Come downstairs…these halls would be a ghost's haunt if we had one, especially with the storm."

Reluctantly, he followed her as a child who had been scolded by his mother might. They went to the kitchen where a roaring fireplace chased away both the damp coldness and the dark.

"Why don't you just confront him," Esmeralda asked, "and get it over with? Have something done about it?"

"I have no proof," Claude said irritably, "the bishop likes Joseph and it would take a great deal to out a priest. You saw that in the courtroom yourself."

It was the first time he'd spoken frankly about that incident that had forced them together in the first place. Esmeralda frowned…she'd nearly forgotten it. It seemed so long ago…more like a horrible nightmare than anything she'd actually experienced in real life.

His eyes glistened with remorseful tears. They were tears of frustration, tears of horror at things he had done.

"Shhh," she soothed, "don't talk about that. I forgave you a long time ago, you know that?"

"How?"

His voice was little more than a whisper.

"You know yourself that you are not the same man that you were then…the Claude Frollo that stabbed Phoebus in the back was one that was very confused, very angry with Phoebus, me, and himself because he did not understand those strange new feelings. You had never been in love, had never been expected to fall in love because of the way of life you chose. Of course you would do something silly…if you don't understand something, how can you be expected to deal with it?"

Unable to look at her face, he stared at her hand covering his. Though he wore his usual black gloves, the warmth from her hand soaked through.

"In a strange sort of way, I am grateful to you. Phoebus was an absolute pig and you didn't want to see me be taken advantage of. Though your actions were wrong, your intentions were noble."

His insides quivered in shock. A thousand times over, he did not deserve her. She was everything he wished he could be, everything he wished he could have.

"Now, surely there has to be evidence," Esmeralda commented, "I know Phoebus is cunning, but he isn't that smart. And Joseph…well…Jehan has been keeping a very close eye on him. I don't think you really have as much to worry about as you think."

"I don't care if something happens to me," Claude finally said, frustrated, "it's you and the children I'm concerned about."

Esmeralda suddenly felt warm from the top of her head to the tips of her toes.

"I almost lost you once out of my own stupidity and self-righteousness," Claude lamented, "I couldn't bear to have it happen again. I would gladly take on the tortures and fires of Hell itself if I only knew you and the children would be safe."

Esmeralda leaned towards him until he could feel her sweet breath on his face.

"You worry too much. We've come this far, haven't we?"

Claude nearly fainted when her lips brushed his. His heart almost stopped beating completely and the world around him shook and blurred. Seeing that he was about to slide out of the chair, her hands on either shoulder steadied him. He stared at her, blue-green eyes pale and wide, chest heaving as he struggled to catch his breath.

"Easy, Claude," her voice soothed, "it's only me, remember?"

His mouth moved, but the words wouldn't come. She descended on him again, this time taking it a little bit deeper. Unable to move, breathe, think, or otherwise act, his eyes slid closed and the world around him ceased to exist. Her breath tasted sweet like chamomile tea and honey, something she usually drank when she couldn't sleep. Her hand under his chin held him steady as her velvet-soft lips moved against his. A heat charged through his blood, heating his soul that had felt frozen for the last week. Flames lit under his skin wherever she touched him. Though he hadn't the slightest idea what he was doing, his own lips began to move clumsily over hers. She didn't seem impatient at all and his hand against the pulse point on her neck detected an increase in her own heartbeat.

"AHAHAHAHA!"

The triumphant laugh cut through the red haze in Claude's mind and they jerked apart. Jehan was standing in the doorway of the kitchen, Jacques right behind him.

"I told you so, I told you so! Now, pay up!" Jehan said triumphantly, holding out his weathered hand.

Jacques sighed and dropped a few silver coins into his hand.

Esmeralda was grinning ear-to-ear while Claude's face was still frozen in an expression of shock and disbelief. He flushed a deep scarlet and folded his violently trembling hands in his lap.

"What are you both doing down here at this hour?" he asked shakily.

"We came to tell you we may have found a solution to your little problem," Jehan said, "and we'd like you to come upstairs. If you can walk, that is…"

Claude started to get up from his chair.

"I can walk perfectly, thank you very much!"

Jacques chuckled. He was embarrassed at having been caught.

_Poor old Claude…_

Everyone restrained a snide remark as Claude nearly fell backwards. Esmeralda's arm around his back steadied him while he regained his composure for a second.

"So, what have you been up to?" Claude asked, ready for them to stop teasing him about the kiss.

"Just come here. It would be far easier to show you than to tell you."

They walked through the dark hallways.

"Wait a minute! This is the tunnel that leads to the dungeon! What are we going here for?" Claude asked.

"You'll see," Jehan said smugly.

After a few more twists and turns, they reached the large imprisonment area. Claude's mouth fell open.

Chained to opposite sides of the room were Phoebus and Joseph. A few other guards were also chained. Quasimodo tossed the keys up and down, creating a torturous jingle. There were several others hanging about that weren't chained.

"Gypsies…" Claude commented to himself in wonderment.

"You protected Esmeralda, so I persuaded a few of them to help us out," Jehan said, "the coins you gave me for cleaning up the cathedral didn't hurt, either."

Pierre, the poet that was supposedly married to Esmeralda, stepped forward.

"We had several of our people on the streets the day you told Captain Phoebus to clear Esmeralda's name," he explained, "and I was there as well. When we saw Captain Phoebus headed to the magistrate's, we knew exactly what you had said to him. The magistrate cleared Esmeralda's name. You've kept her safe, so we decided to return the favor."

Claude stared, open-mouthed.

"But-but.."

"Esmeralda has been sending word to us every week since Quasimodo saved her life," the King of the Gypsies informed him, "and she has had nothing but positive things to say about you."

"How?" Claude squeaked.

Jacques grinned.

"Ever notice how I'm never around on Friday evenings?" he asked Claude.

Claude sighed.

"I should be grateful," he mumbled to himself, "I should…but I do wish someone would have said _something_ to me about all of this."

"Sorry about keeping you in the dark," Jehan apologized, "but we would have wrecked the ruse."

It was then that Claude noticed something. Jehan's hair had been cut so that it looked exactly like Claude's. He even wore a tonsure—a shaved spot in the back that was the mark of a priest. Jehan had also snatched some of Claude's robes and they fit him perfectly. Claude examined him more closely and saw that Jehan's face was coated in flour to make him appear paler and smoother.

"Pull your hood up," Claude demanded.

Jehan did. In the dark, he could pass for Claude perfectly.

"I let these two dolts see me lurking around the streets under pretense of going to a dying person," Jehan explained, "which of course, our dear gypsy friends were happy to stage. Phoebus and Joseph were waiting in a nearby alleyway, which we already knew about from our spies at the tops of the buildings. When these two and their cronies moved to grab me, we gave them a rather unpleasant surprise."

It was then that Claude noticed a bandaged stab-wound in Joseph's shoulder.

"Ah…clever. I underestimate you yet again, Jehan," Claude commented. He walked over to Joseph. With as much calmness as he could muster, he knelt down so that he was level with Joseph's face.

"Joseph, how could you do such a thing?"

Joseph's dark eyes blazed in anger.

"I was the rightful archdeacon and you _know_ it! Letting those filthy gypsies into the cathedral like that!"

Esmeralda's hands flew to her mouth when a resounding THWACK resonated through the stone-lined chamber. Joseph's hands flew to his face, a trickle of blood spurting from his lower lip.

"Watch your mouth," Claude said sternly, "there are ladies in your presence. You won't have to worry about 'filthy gypsies' where you're going tomorrow."

He turned to the guards who weren't chained.

"So…what about the rest of you? Where do your loyalties lie?"

"Sir, we never agreed to Phoebus's orders," one of them said, "we're supposed to be protecting people, not harming them, right?"

The young man looked as if he had just grown out of boyhood. His pale blue eyes still seemed as big and innocent as a pup's.

"That's a good lad. We need more like you," Claude said warmly, giving him a pat on the shoulder.

"Thank you, sir."

"Now, don't let these heathens out of your sight. The rest of you come with me."

The cooks were none too happy about being awoken in the middle of the night, but they softened when Claude promised them compensation for their trouble. Gypsies filled the kitchen where they filled all their empty bellies with roasted meat, bread, fresh fruit and vegetables, and wine (which Claude cautioned them not to have too much of). He sent them away with huge baskets of the leftovers, commanding them to share with the others that had not been able to attend and he assured them that they would always be welcome here. The King of Gypsies promised that they would try to curb their robbing habits in exchange for the guards not arresting them based on appearances alone. The room burst into applause when the King and the Archdeacon shook hands in agreement.

But there was still one thing bothering Claude.

While the others were busy with the festivities in the kitchen, Claude led the King of Gypsies upstairs to see the children. They looked quite peaceful in the gold and silver of the candlelight and moonlight and did not wake despite the whispers.

"I would recognize those two anywhere," Clopin commented, "they were my sister's and her husband's."

"Were?" Claude asked, his throat constricting.

"Were," Clopin repeated with a sigh, "Phoebus and his thugs killed both of them during a raid one night. They have been orphans for nearly two years now. We're not sure exactly how they got separated from us, but we thought them dead until Jacques came to us one night asking if anyone was missing a girl and boy. Esmeralda seemed quite attached to them and we didn't want to take them, what with her inability to leave."

"But she's been cleared for nearly a month," Claude replied, "what stopped you?"

Clopin grinned.

"You did."

"Me? Why?" Claude asked, "I would have let them all leave if asked."

Clopin suppressed a hearty laugh.

"I saw the way you looked at Esmeralda the very first time you ever saw her. Despite your lackey, Joseph's vicious claims, I didn't believe you could ever hurt her. There was too much passion, too much amazement in the way you gazed so longingly at her."

Claude smiled slightly.

"However, keep this in mind. If you ever hurt my Esmeralda, I will castrate you myself, make no mistake about that! I consider her as good as my own daughter!" Clopin warned.

Claude flushed awkwardly.

"You have my word that I will protect her with my life," he stammered.

"Good. See to it that you do the same for these children. I just haven't the heart to take them from you," Clopin sighed, "I must be getting soft in my old age."

Joy filled Claude and he felt as though he could fly if he were but a fraction of a stone lighter.

"Now…I know your kind aren't allowed to marry," Clopin said, his face serious in the candlelight, "but you have a place to stay with us. Esmeralda will be truly yours and you will be truly hers."

"What about Pierre?" Claude asked in disbelief.

"Esmeralda has never loved him as anything more than a friend, perhaps a brother," Clopin explained, "they will be free of their obligations to each other."

Claude nodded slowly.

"I have a lot to think about…" he lamented.

Clopin cuffed him gently on the shoulder, but it was enough to almost make him fall.

"No pressure, son, no pressure."

"Thank you," Claude said, "for everything."


	15. Chapter 15

It wasn't until late in the afternoon that Claude finally hauled himself out of bed. The bright sunlight streamed in through the glass panes, throwing buttery squares of light across his bed. Sighing, he stretched and looked down at his rumpled robes.

_I really should stop making this a habit_, he thought to himself. The memory of Esmeralda brought a soft, dreamy look to his face.

She'd kissed him. She'd actually _kissed_ him. He'd never dreamed of anything so wonderful happening in his life.

Only one dark shadow remained in his life now, and that belonged to the future. What would he do now? He could try to hold out as long as possible for Esmeralda's sake, the children's, and the people of Paris in terms of…well, _claiming_ her…

But at what cost? Would he be living a lie now that he'd kissed someone (and enjoyed it)? As long as she'd resisted his advances, he'd really had nothing to worry about. But now, what would become of them?

The logical side of his mind knew there was only one real solution, but the uncertainty scared him too much. His emotions blotted those things out, telling him plainly that it was pointless to worry. The future would bring consequences regardless of what path he chose and worrying would do nothing to help any of them. The idea of marrying Esmeralda was Heaven on Earth to him, but whether she would was a completely different matter.

His heartstrings played a bittersweet melody inside him the next time he saw Esmeralda. He saw the tune being answered in her eyes as well.

She wore a gown of vivid sky blue today and the cut was lovely on her. She reminded him of a glorious flower, the one that made all the others in the garden withered and dim. All they could do was smile shyly at each other.

His blue-green eyes seemed more vivid today; she noticed he wore elegant white and gold robes instead of his usual black. The white made him look much younger than his forty-something years. There was color in his cheeks and he seemed very excited about something.

"There is a baptism to take place today," he told her, "…that's where I'm going."

"May I?" she asked.

"Of course."

They walked down the hallway together. Since they couldn't be seen actually holding hands, they held them close enough together that they were continuously brushing against each other.

The couple was waiting for them when they reached the sanctuary. A handful of relatives crowded around. Esmeralda then saw the one that Claude would be blessing—a tiny infant girl in her mother's arms. She couldn't have been more than a month old.

"We've prayed and we've prayed for a child," the woman told Claude, her eyes brimming with joyful tears, "but they all either died in the womb or didn't survive past the first light of day."

"Beautiful Maria," Claude whispered, "how glad I am to meet you at last…"

The infant smiled and cooed at him.

"Well…shall we begin?"

The mother carefully released Maria into Claude's capable hands. Esmeralda stayed back, but she still had a good view of everything. Claude said a prayer over the budding family, then carried little Maria to the baptismal pool. Since she was still just a tiny baby, he didn't put her face under. Instead, he held her just under the water's surface with one hand and used his other to wet her dark, curly hair. Esmeralda completely lost track of the words he said, for she was too busy watching his expression. Claude was completely in his element just then…there was no strain, no conflict in his face whatsoever. The painting of Jesus on the altarpiece behind him caught her attention for a moment…she noticed that Claude's peaceful and joyous expression mirrored that of Jesus surrounded by his flock of sheep.

Her heart ached.

How could she ask him to ever leave Notre Dame when he so obviously loved what he did…who he had become?

"Esmeralda," he said, snapping her out of her conflicting happiness and torture.

She looked up at him.

"They looked so happy," she commented.

"They do," Claude said, sitting on the pew beside her, "God has finally given them what they wanted more than anything else in the world. I married them, you know."

"You did?"

Esmeralda tried to picture a slightly younger Claude standing on this very platform with the younger couple.

"It must have been a beautiful wedding," she sighed, watching the colors from the glass pouring in and casting rainbow highlights on everything.

"It was," Claude agreed, "Marguerite was a vision as a bride. She put the flowers she carried to shame. And George was trying not to cry…all of his friends told him that real men never cry and he clearly didn't believe them."

Esmeralda smiled.

"It was my very first wedding," Claude confessed, "and it was really the only one where I had time to attend the after-party. George is an artist and he gave me a painting of this cathedral as a gift. I still have it in my possession somewhere…I haven't seen it in quite some time."

Hoping that no one who would mind would see, Esmeralda lay her head against his shoulder. He felt strong and warm beneath her cheek. She sighed deeply.

It wasn't a happy sigh and Claude picked up on this immediately.

"What's the matter?" he asked, slipping his arm around her shoulder.

_God, why have I acquired a taste for his touch?_

"I am confused, that's all," she admitted, "there's just so much that doesn't make sense…it's like a puzzle that doesn't fit together all the way. Sometimes I feel like I've made your life much too complicated."

A gentle tug and she was pressed even closer to his side. He gently brushed his cheek against her dark hair, relishing its silky softness.

"You made _my_ life complicated? Oh, Esmeralda…never could you be more wrong…I didn't know what I was or why I accepted my position at Notre Dame or even if I wanted to stay until I saw you…The day you met me, I was on my way to the cathedral after being sworn in as archdeacon. I had no more of an idea of where I was headed than you were! I demanded that God explain it to me, that He would make me stop feeling such things. I thought you were going to die because of my inability to accept fate…then Quasimodo saved you and it all began to make sense. Human logic said you should have died…but God said you lived. It doesn't make much sense to us because we're thinking like humans…and of course, we don't know any better! But He has His reasons for everything…and that includes our feelings as well. The answers we seek will come in time…they always will."

He gave her a comforting squeeze.

"Can we…go somewhere else? I don't want you to get caught," Esmeralda said awkwardly.

"I know a very good spot," Claude told her, "follow me."

They emerged out by the river. Though rivers and canals that went through cities were often horrid, smelly places, the water ran clear and clean here. The gardens in the back of the cathedral extended all the way out to the shore where someone had lovingly separated the water from the land with a border of stones. Esmeralda understood why no one ever came here; the hedges were so overgrown that this section of the garden was invisible.

"I come out here when I don't want to be seen," he admitted, "sometimes I lose track of time and I'll be gone for hours. The cathedral gets rather stuffy and claustrophobic at times."

She nodded. He sank down onto the tan-colored sand without expressing any concern for his fancy robes. She followed suit. With a flick of his wrist, he sent a stone skipping across the water. On the opposite shore, the water did not gently blend into a shore, but came to a halt due to a stone wall. Yes, he had chosen well.

"Sometimes I envy regular men," Claude admitted, "they put in their day's work and they can stop. Being any kind of a clergy member is a lifestyle, not a job."

Seeing her face, he gave her a questioning look.

"I wanted to talk to you about that," she admitted uneasily.

He searched her face for answers.

"You're afraid I'll lose my position," he guessed finally.

"Yes…and I can't ask you to give it up," she sighed, "I could never ask that of you. But…what will _we_ do? We can never marry…and I cannot ask you to live a lie. But you have needs and…"

She was cut off by a smile.

"Is that all you're worried about? That I'm not allowed to love you physically?"

He ran a gentle hand over her cheek and she leaned into his touch.

"As nice as I'm sure that would be," he said, leaning in closer, "I could do without if I had to. As long as you're around, making the stained glass and the flowers dull and dim by comparison, I'll be content with whatever I have…your beautiful smile, the way the sunlight dances in your hair, the sound of your voice when you laugh…Don't you see? Some people never get to where we are."

"I feel selfish," Esmeralda muttered.

"Why?" he asked, serious for a moment.

"Because…I want _more._"

He closed his eyes and leaned into her kiss. Heat rose in his middle, spreading like a raging inferno through his body. These robes were much thinner than the others he usually wore and his senses were unusually heightened to her touch. Feather light, she lit fires under his skin wherever her hands went.

"Esmeralda," he choked out as he rapidly lost the ability to put a coherent thought together.

Her hands slid down his back and he shuddered pleasantly. She grinned, seeing his green-blue eyes turn dark like stormy seas. Her hands brushed against his shoulders, then his chest. His heart was pounding and it leapt when her palm rested just an inch or two above it on the surface. Her other hand trailed down to his narrow waist. Claude felt as though he would jump clean out of his skin any moment. Thankfully, the folds of the robes hid his evidence. All of his muscles had grown taut in an effort to keep still.

_I must not,_ he pleaded with himself, _Oh, God in Heaven, Mary, Jesus…please help me…and her…_

Seeing the Herculean effort he was giving to not deflower her, her guilt grew.

"I have another confession," she admitted, "I am not a virgin."

He stared at her for a moment, then tried to shrug nonchalantly.

"That doesn't bother you?" she asked.

Claude winced.

"Well…a little," he admitted, "but not for the reasons that it should…"

She waited for an explanation.

"Most would say because _intercourse,_" Claude said awkwardly, "before marriage is sinful…but how can you touch me without first comparing it to another man? I cannot ask you to forget him or any others you may have…touched."

In a bittersweet way, she understood. It was sweet…he wanted to be her first…

In theory, of course. She buried her face in his shoulder, inhaling his scent. He crushed her against him, the tightness in his arms saying he couldn't let her go if he wanted to.

"AHEM!"

Claude froze and released Esmeralda. Over her shoulder, he saw the last person in the world he wanted to see (besides Phoebus and Joseph, of course).

"Claude Frollo, what are you doing?"

The bishop crossed his arms sternly. Behind him, a smug Joseph and a sympathetic Jacques stood. Jacques was ashen and he was walking as though he'd been punched.

"I tried to stall them," he mouthed silently to Claude. Claude gave the slightest of a nod. He could never blame Jacques.

"Come with me," the bishop said sternly, "_all_ of you."


	16. Chapter 16

Claude walked on trembling legs. His previously rosy cheeks had now become pallid again and he looked at the world with empty, troubled eyes. Esmeralda walked silently beside him. She longed to take him in her arms again, to soothe him and tell him it would be all right. She wanted to punch Joseph in the face for his smug expression and pat Jacques on the shoulder, for he looked guilt-stricken despite having done absolutely nothing wrong.

"In the office," the bishop hissed, "_now!_"

Reluctantly, they all did as they were told. Just as the bishop was about to say something, Jehan suddenly burst through the door.

"Let him go! He's done nothing wrong!" Jehan was talking very fast and he looked half-crazed.

"Jehan," Claude said weakly, "sit down…and _please_ be quiet."

Surprised by the brokenness in his brother's voice, a shocked Jehan's butt hit the hard wooden chair with a resounding _smack_.

"Well, Dom Claude, it would appear you've had some success in getting your wayward brother on the right track," the bishop commented, "at least you have that to your name."

Claude swallowed hard and stared at the stone floor.

"I've spoken to the others and it seems you've had a few successes here…you got an innocent's name cleared with the help of your ward, taken in two more children, convinced the gypsies to attend the Mass and try to change their ways…"

Claude nearly smiled. The gypsies had heckled him quite a bit during the last sermon he'd given, answering his rhetorical questions with ridiculous answers, but they had at least shown up and enjoyed themselves. The congregation had seemed rather amused…

"But there are a few things that reflect rather unfavorably on you as well," the bishop also said, "Captain Phoebus said that you confessed to stabbing him in the back and Joseph also agrees that this was the case. There was also that little display in the garden just a moment ago. A true priest does _not_ spend so much time alone with a young lady and he certainly has no business touching her the way you did."

Claude's eyes were closed and he was pinching the bridge of his nose as if to ward off a headache.

"Frankly, Claude, I'm shocked. I'd have thought by now that a man so gifted with your passions would know where to send them…into your sermons, perhaps, your work, your prayers, but certainly not into lust or rage. We can't have you displaying such instabilities around the others…remember what Paul said—'I will not do that which causes my brother in Christ to stumble'. Do you understand?"

"Yes sir," Claude's voice was scarcely a whisper.

"Now…I don't believe you to be beyond redemption and I am willing to give you a second chance on one condition."

Claude's hands were squeezed together and his shoulders were hunched. He knew, unfortunately, exactly what the bishop was going to say.

"This young woman," the bishop said, pointing at Esmeralda, "however wonderful she is, cannot stay here any longer. You are to have no contact with her from this point on. If you violate that, you must leave the priesthood and you will be exiled from entering Notre Dame for the rest of your life."

The silence was suffocating. He felt a hand on one shoulder, but registered it from far, far away. He felt as if his soul had been ripped out of his body and was now forced to watch these events taking place from another location. He was powerless.

"Oh, sir, please don't cast Claude out! It's not his fault!" Esmeralda nearly yelled. The bishop stared at her as if she were a cockroach skittering across his shoe.

"It was my fault, sir," she said, "I seduced him. He tried to tell me not to cross those lines, but I wouldn't listen! If he's done anything wrong at all, it's that he's been entirely too kind to me and all I've done is get him into one mess right after another!"

"I see," the bishop sighed, "you are called Esmeralda, correct?"

"Yes, sir," she admitted.

"Esmeralda, I suggest you leave right away. I will send someone upstairs to help you gather your things. Since you have been honest, I will not file charges against you for bewitching my archdeacon, but be warned that the consequences are very stiff should you come near him again."

Esmeralda fought back the tears.

"Yes, sir," she said shakily, "though I love Claude Frollo with all of my heart. I had hoped he would baptize me someday."

Claude blinked and the tears spilled over. He still found himself unable to speak, unable to breathe. His beautiful Esmeralda was taking the blame for everything…things that he had started…awful, evil things he'd intended to do to her…why couldn't he say something?

"And does he _love_ you as well?" the bishop's tone was mocking, "due to Claude's silence on the matter, I cannot be certain. Claude? Have you anything to say?"

Claude was as still and silent as a stone despite the sweat on his pale face and the glittering of tears in his eyes.

"You have your answer," Joseph said triumphantly, "now, get out of here, you gypsy whore!"

Esmeralda fled the room. Claude could hear her crying and almost fell apart right there.

"Now, Claude," the bishop said, "I think it best that you forget about her. She is the past and you are the future. The two may often relate to each other, but they will never meet."

The lecture about what was okay and what wasn't dragged on. Finally, the bishop left and thankfully, Joseph went with him. Claude went tearing around the cathedral to try and find Esmeralda, but there was no trace of her left.

"Oh, no…I'm too late…" he whimpered, voice high-pitched and shaking.

He was alone.

The cold blizzard that had haunted him when he thought he would lose Esmeralda roared to life with a vengeance. Clutching his hands to the sides of his head, he dropped to his knees. The tears flooded his field of vision and he shook like a leaf in a violent storm.

Jacques stood at the mouth of the little corner that Esmeralda, Jehan, and the children had made their sleeping area. The sight of all those empty beds was very disheartening though he knew the children were around here someplace. Esmeralda had probably said goodbye to them. He could only wipe the sympathetic tears off of his own cheeks. Nothing he could say or do would help Claude and he knew that.

A very upset Ginger came up the spiral staircase leading her brother by the hand. She pushed past Jacques and tugged at the sleeve of Claude's robes.

"Father Claude, why did Esmeralda go away? Didn't she want us anymore?"

Jacques cringed. The poor thing…she may as well have stabbed Claude through the heart with a dagger. Claude was unable to speak, unable to even look at Ginger.

"Oh, sweetheart," Jacques sighed, "of course she did…she didn't leave because of anything that you, Andrew, or any of the rest of us did…she left because a couple of cold-hearted men chased her off."

"Why can't we just bring her back?" Ginger asked, her tone taking on a slight whine.

"I wish it were that simple," Jacques sighed, "but they won't let her in. She'll get in trouble and so will we."

"Then let's run away! The king man said we could go stay at his house anytime we wanted!" Ginger said triumphantly.

There was no response from Claude, who was still shuddering and shaking silently.

"Don't cry, Father, we'll fix it somehow, won't we, Andrew?"

Jacques couldn't help but smile when Claude pulled both of them into a tight hug.

"I love you both so much," he choked out, "you have such good hearts…if only the rest of the world was like you."

He wiped his face with the sleeve of his robes.

"Please don't run away," he begged, "it's bad enough that Esmeralda left. I'd worry too much with you gone."

"All right," Ginger sighed.

Eventually, Claude requested some time to be alone and left. Ginger and Andrew didn't play, preferring to try and come up with ways to get Esmeralda back or ways to get Claude to go to her.

Meanwhile, Jehan didn't give up easily, either.

"If I get my hands on that cowardly little donkey's ass Joseph, I'll tear him limb from limb! I know he had to have said something…the question is how on earth did he get out of the dungeon?"

He and Jacques were pacing back and forth in the library. Out here, they could see Claude in the garden, though he wasn't in his "secret spot" right now. Despite the afternoon sun, Claude had never looked so gloomy. There may as well have been dark clouds over Notre Dame.

"The bishop himself let Joseph out," explained Jacques, "the reason for his visit in the first place was to find out why Joseph had gotten imprisoned. Unfortunately, the bishop sees Captain Phoebus in a different light than we do. Thankfully, Joseph didn't sing his praises enough to let Phoebus go free. Since there's an obvious dissent between Claude and Joseph, it's decided that Joseph will be sent somewhere else."

"Good. I better never see him again," Jehan growled, "no one harasses my brother but me!"

He sighed, looking down at Claude.

"Look at him! He'll never make it without that girl! He'll die of a broken heart!"

Jacques nodded.

"It's very unfortunate," he sighed, "I love Claude Frollo as if he were a brother of mine as well. Our hands are tied…if the bishop senses any sort of threat, we'll be sent away as well. The best we can do is try to bide our time until the bishop finds something more important to deal with. Maybe then we'll finally have peace."

The heat of summer yielded to a cold and rainy autumn. Autumn rapidly descended into a hard and icy winter. Paris was pounded relentlessly with snowstorms and the people were struggling to keep warm enough to survive. The cathedral was overwhelmed with charity cases and the bottom floors held many people huddled together for warmth. The cathedral itself gave as much as it could, but its once massive food stores were rapidly depleted. The meals became smaller and smaller and the soups became thinner and thinner. Claude gave most of his own food to the children, claiming he had no appetite. It was true; he rarely felt hunger these days. He rarely felt anything. He had become numb to the iciness on the outside due to the iciness inside. The Mass services were conducted regularly, but the crowds could tell that Claude's mind was really somewhere else. They tried to be supportive of him and gave comments of encouragement, but he didn't seem to register what they said. It was as though the brilliant flame that had once burned inside of him had been snuffed out.

The days of grieving, loss of appetite, and general self-neglect took their toll. Color once again filled Claude's cheeks, but it was the hot red flush of a fever. Though he forced himself to keep working, the others could see that his strength was rapidly waning.

"Go get some rest, Claude," Jehan pressed.

"Can't…I have too much to do," Claude told him.

"You're sick, Claude. If you don't rest, you'll make yourself worse!"

But Claude wasn't listening. Again.

The fever came and went intermittently. Just as they all thought their dear archdeacon was improving, he developed a nasty cough. It was getting nearly impossible for him to conduct a proper sermon because he coughed more than he was able to speak. He took to keeping extra handkerchiefs in his robes to absorb the nastiness that came up. He still insisted he was all right.

One night, however, his strength suddenly vanished. He was coming down the stairs to tell the children it was time for bed when the stairs suddenly rocked beneath him. A sharp pain in his lower half told him he'd fallen sideways and rolled the rest of the way down. Quasimodo had heard the noise and came running to investigate.

"Master! I'm coming, Master!"

Though his hunchbacked frame made him clumsy and slow, he barreled down the stairs at a breakneck pace. Claude blinked and tried to make Quasimodo's face stop blurring.

"Master, you're hurt!"

Quasimodo's fingers brushed a tender spot on the side of Claude's head and Claude hissed in pain. He was only vaguely surprised at the smear of blood on Quasimodo's hand.

"I'll get you help! Stay there!" Quasimodo ordered.

For once, Claude didn't argue.

A moment later, Jacques, Jehan, the children, and a couple of other monks appeared. Before they attempted to move Claude, they checked to make sure that his back and neck weren't broken.

"He's a bit banged-up, but he'll have nothing worse than cuts and bruises," Jehan announced to the others. Very carefully, they picked him up and carried him to his room.

"It's not a deep gash," Jacques commented as he cleaned out the cut on the side of Claude's head, "just a shallow scratch. You were very lucky. I think you only got a scrape rather than a bad bump."

They were forced to strip away his robes to see if any more injuries had taken place. Claude crossed his arms over his narrow chest, shivering violently. He started to cough again.

"That's it, brother! We're calling a doctor _tonight! _I don't care if you make me sleep in the damn rafters with the bats!" Jehan said firmly. Though he sounded angry, Claude could tell he was badly frightened. Claude felt terribly light in his arms and it bothered him to see his brave, strong, sensible brother merely wasting away from his own stubbornness. They pulled Claude's winter nightclothes over his head and layered them on. Some of the other monks brought heated bricks wrapped in cloth to place at his feet. They heaped blankets over Claude and stoked the fire until the room finally warmed up. At one point, Claude coughed so hard that he made himself throw up. Jehan cleaned up the mess without saying a word and Jacques helped him sit up more in case it happened again. A sense of shame overcame Claude and he stared miserably at the topmost quilt.

"Don't worry, my friend," Jacques whispered, "you'll be all right…it's merely all the sickness trying to leave your body."

"If something happens to me…you will tell her, won't you?"

Claude was surprised at how weak and high-pitched his voice sounded. It reminded him of a child's voice.

"We will tell her, but you'll get better, so don't worry about that," Jacques said gently.

Quasimodo burst into the room dragging the doctor by the arm. Despite how awful he felt, his heart warmed at Quasimodo's eagerness to help.

"Master! I found him, Master! I got the doctor!" Quasimodo said, as excited as a little kid.

"Ah, Dom Claude…good to see you again, though I wish the circumstances were better," Dr. Beauregard said, "I believe you've visited some patients with me."

Unable to speak due to another coughing fit, Claude nodded. The others in the room made a face when the doctor pried the handkerchief out of his hands and opened it up to examine the contents.

"There's no blood," he announced, "which is wonderful news. That rules out tuberculosis."

He asked everyone in the room how long this had been going on. They gave him as much information as they could.

"Well…it sounds to me as though you caught a chill and didn't care for it properly," the doctor explained, "there are a few diseases it could be, but the good news is that we might be able to treat it. I must consult with the apothecary first…I'll be back in the morning. Until then, do not leave this bed and stay covered up. The rest of you make sure he gets plenty of fluids…broth would be a good choice at the moment, considering how emaciated he looks."

Everyone scattered again. Claude hardly noticed their absence, for he was drifting in and out of a strange sleep. He registered someone spooning warm broth into his mouth at one point, but couldn't remember anything else. The fever rose higher and Claude's breath was irregular and rapid. Afraid to leave him alone at any one point, they took turns watching over him.

"Please, God," Jehan prayed for the first time in his life, "don't let me lose my brother…"

In all the absolute chaos, no one noticed that Ginger and Andrew were not in their beds.


	17. Chapter 17

"Don't let go of my hand, Andrew," Ginger whispered nervously, "we _have_ to stay together. The alley monsters will gobble us up if we don't!"

"But what about Gabriel? He'll protect us, won't he?" Andrew asked.

"He's not big enough yet," Ginger reminded her brother, "but we can make it if we're careful! Father Claude's too sick to know we're gone! And we're not breaking our promise, either because we aren't running away!"

"Then what are we doing?" Andrew asked.

"I told you," Ginger said, "we're getting Esmeralda back so that Father can get better. If some mean man told me I couldn't see my friend ever again, I'd get sick, too. Now, come on!"

The children snuck out of the cathedral through an underground tunnel.

"Ugh…rats! I hate rats!" Andrew shuddered.

"Don't mind them," Ginger told him, "they can't hurt you."

"Oh, yes they can!" Andrew lamented.

"Just come on! The sooner we get out of here, the sooner we can get to the Court of Miracles!"

Andrew suddenly pulled back on Ginger's hand.

"You don't know where you're going, do you?"

"Yes, I do! Or…at least I'm pretty sure…" she said hesitantly.

"I'm not going another step until you know," Andrew said firmly, "the Devil himself might get me!"

"It's either the Devil or all those rats hiding in the shadows," Ginger said casually.

"Fine," Andrew groaned, "but only because I love Father and I love Esmeralda. I'm not afraid, I'm not afraid, I'm not afraid…"

He chanted the line over and over again.

"The Lord is our Shepherd, we shall not want," Ginger said, reciting the Twenty-Third Psalm, "He maketh me lie down in green pastures, He leadeth me beside still waters…"

They finally made it out of the creepy tunnel. Ginger made a face when she stepped in a puddle of mud.

"Yuck!" she griped, shaking her wet foot.

"Be quiet! They'll hear you!" Andrew hissed, pointing at some guards.

Ginger sighed and they pressed onward. Each time they saw an adult they didn't recognize, they fled to a hiding place. They moved in a zigzag pattern down the street. The great big cathedral clock rang out the hour: ten o'clock.

"It's getting late," Ginger sighed, "we really need to find Esmeralda. It's already one hour past our bedtime. I'll bet either Jehan or Quasimodo already knows we're gone."

"I want to go home," Andrew whimpered.

"We will," Ginger told him, "but we musn't give up. For all we know, Father Claude's life depends on it."

Gabriel suddenly took off down the sidewalk.

"Gabriel, wait!" Ginger cried, chasing after him. The dog ran down the sidewalk, hot on the trail of something. The children were forced to cut through some crowds, people nagging at them to go home.

"You there! Halt!"

"Oh, no!" Andrew wailed, pointing at the guards who suddenly decided to give chase.

"Run, Andrew!"

Ginger and Andrew put on the burst of speed. Gabriel was just up ahead, snuffing at something.

A graveyard. Great…

"Gabriel!"

The dog suddenly disappeared as if he were never there.

"What happened?" Andrew panted.

"I don't know," Ginger answered breathlessly, "but I hope it was good!"

The guards were left scratching their heads as the children vanished as well. Puzzled, they looked everywhere, but they couldn't find any trace of them.

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!"

The two children descended into darkness. It felt as though the very ground had swallowed them up. They landed in dark, murky water. The only source of light came from a single torch.

"Ugh…gross!" Ginger whined. The water was murky and muddy. She helped Andrew to his feet and they walked to the nearest "dry" spot where the mud was at least solid. Gabriel shook his fur out and ran to join them, licking affectionately.

"Gabriel, you naughty dog! I should punish you for running away like that!" Ginger scolded.

Gabriel suddenly took off.

"Now where are you going? Get back here!"

The children's feet made splatting sounds as they hurried after the wayward animal. It was then, suddenly, that a pair of arms each seized them.

"NOOO! Put me down!" Ginger yelled angrily.

They were dragged into the main chamber.

"Andrew, look! We found it! The Court of Miracles!" Ginger suddenly called.

…_Four Hours Later_…..

"How is he doing? Any change?" Jacques asked Jehan.

"Afraid not," Jehan lamented, "he's been muttering things in his sleep, things that don't make any sense to me. If anything, he's gotten worse."

Jacques wandered over to the bed. Other than his very flushed cheeks, the rest of Claude's face was very pale.

"We've got to get this fever down," Jacques said, "the doctor's advice be damned."

Jehan's mouth fell open.

"What on earth are you talking about?" he asked, stunned that Jacques had spoken like that.

"Look at him! He's too hot! All those blankets are holding in the heat. He's roasting from the inside out…we need to cool him off, not heat him up," Jacques explained.

"So…" Jehan prompted.

"Start taking those blankets off."

They began to strip away the cocoons of blankets. Working late into the night, they tried various things to cool Claude off. He only opened his eyes once and they were glazed and glassy. The mumbling eventually stopped and he was so deathly still…

"Oh, I do hope he'll like Heaven," Jehan lamented.

"Don't talk like that," Jacques said sharply, "he might hear you."

The clocks chimed the hours away. It was nearly four in the morning…

…..

"You _promised_ him," Esmeralda sighed, "and you promised _me_."

She looked at the children who were asleep in her bed. Unable to sleep herself, she sat by the fire and stroked Gabriel.

It had taken some clearing up of misunderstandings, but the children were eventually released into her care. She was deeply disturbed to hear that Claude was so ill and vowed to herself that she would go see him in the morning. Job or no job—she knew she would regret not seeing him if he did pass away. She wanted to be with him. Besides, he would understand…right? Besides, she needed to make sure that the children got home safely. Though he would still have Quasimodo and Jacques, losing the children would be much too much of a change for him. According to what Ginger had said, losing her had also been a much more powerful loss than they expected.

She hadn't meant for him to get so sick, she was just trying to keep him out of trouble. In her heart, her intentions had been good.

As the old saying went, good intentions sometimes paved the roads to Hell….

Her chin in her hand, she couldn't think of anything but him. The children's presences now did not change that—she'd thought about him endlessly since she'd gone. She wondered if he'd be all right, then chided herself for that. Of course he would…he was one of the most powerful men in Paris, right? Maybe that had less to do with his well-being than she'd thought.

She remembered their stolen moments, how he always seemed surprised at her gestures of affection. Though he'd been so forceful when she'd first met him, he was so sweet and so shy with her now. She remembered his slender hands and wished they were holding hers now.

She stared into the fire, many, many memories she'd formed of him flashing through her mind. Eventually, she fell asleep that way, chin resting on her hand as she sat in the corner. He was there even in her dreams, but a great, dark chasm was separating them.

"Hold on and stay right there," she called, "I'll come to you."

Just as she crossed the chasm, not remembering later how she did it, she reached out to hold him only to pitch forward onto the hearth and wake herself up. Sighing irritably, she brushed the soot off of her skirt and went to lay down by the children.

…

"This ought to help him," the doctor said, a covered jar in his hand, "I searched for every healing herb I could find. Luckily, the people of Paris were willing to pitch in a few coins for their beloved archdeacon…we have several fever-breakers in here. Since he's out cold, we'll have to give it to him slowly so that he doesn't choke."

He did a quick examination of Claude only to find that very little had changed despite his "family's" efforts to try and bring the raging fever down. It was as though fire itself burned under Claude's skin.

"The swallow reflex still works," he explained to Jehan, who had retrieved a teaspoon, "just go slowly. We'll make some more of this mixture if it does not take effect within a couple of hours."

With as much patience as he could muster, Jehan spooned the herb cocktail into Claude's slightly open mouth. Jacques was discussing more options with the doctor and watching Jehan out of the corner of his eye. It amazed him how much Claude and Jehan had snapped at each other at first…one would never know that they had been estranged for so long.

The day wore on. Trying to make sure that Claude didn't suffer from dehydration, they spooned various things into him drop by painstaking drop: tea, broth, and plain water that had been carefully boiled and set to cool so that there was absolutely no contamination. Claude's absolute stillness was far worse, in Jacques's opinion than the hallucinations: at least when he was muttering to himself, there was hope that he would suddenly become lucid again. Now, other than his faint breath, he looked as pale and as still as a corpse.

"I only hope Ginger and Andrew went where I think they went," Jehan sighed, wiping a trickle away from the corner of his brother's mouth, "it might just be the only medicine that snaps him out of it."

The sun hid its face that morning and it dawned cold and gray. Visitors to the church were frequent and many of them stopped to pray for Claude while they were there. Though Jehan and Jacques were extremely protective and only let Quasimodo and the doctor into the back room, they promised the well-wishers that their get-well gifts would be given to him. Claude still did not wake and the fire within continued to rage.

Sometime after breakfast, the doors of the cathedral creaked open quietly. Jacques clamped both hands over his mouth to stifle his yelp of excitement. Jehan, however, let loose a hearty cackle that echoed off the stone and made many of the clergy cringe and look up.

The children walked on either side of her and Gabriel skittered around, his stumpy tail wagging excitedly. Esmeralda was back. Before she had a chance to say a word, Jehan seized her wrist and dragged her towards Claude's cell. She knew the way well, but was tripping and stumbling due to Jehan's speed.

"He's dying of a broken heart," Jehan said softly, "you're the only medicine he's got…"

She crossed the room slowly. Claude seemed so small and so fragile in the bed…how had he gone downhill so fast? She was unaware that he had only gotten this bad in the last twenty-four hours, that he'd been sick for quite a while before now.

"It's going to be all right," she whispered, her voice shaking, "I'm with you now and I won't leave you again unless you ask me to. Come back to us, Claude."

She kissed him on the forehead.

The children appeared. Judging by their appearance, Jacques had talked them into bathing and changing into clean clothes.

"Quasimodo told me it's almost Christmas…" Ginger sighed, "but I don't want anything but Father Claude to get well. Not even candy."

Esmeralda frowned. She had lost track of the days.

"That's very sweet of you," Esmeralda said, "maybe if that's what we all ask for, it will happen."

"I drawed this," Andrew announced, holding up a scrap of paper that someone had thrown out. He had managed to transform the ink splatter that had wrecked the paper into a beautiful child's drawing of the nativity scene.

"Quasimodo helped me a lot, though," he said, "and look! I even got the star right!"

"That's wonderful, Andrew!" Esmeralda praised him.

"I want it to be Father's present," Andrew said.

"Well, how about you ask Quasimodo to help you make a frame for it and we'll put it right here on this table for Claude when he wakes up?"

Andrew nodded and rushed off to find Quasimodo.

"I want to make a present, too," Ginger said.

"What would you like to make?" Esmeralda asked.

"Well…he's always got books around," Ginger said, "I want to make him a book. We can all write something and draw the pictures. It can be a book about us. Jehan, can you help me find everything?"

"I would be honored, little lady," Jehan said, making a sweeping bow. Ginger giggled.

"If he wakes up, you will tell us, won't you?" Ginger asked before stepping out into the hallway.

"I cross my heart," Esmeralda said.

She watched Ginger grab Jehan's hand and drag him out though she wasn't entirely sure where she was headed first. Esmeralda smiled and rested her cheek against Claude's forehead. She began to try and figure out what she was going to do…nothing seemed quite special enough for him. But there would be time for that later.


	18. Chapter 18

A/N: If I have anachronisms in this chapter, apologies in advance. I need them for the sake of the story. And for those of you who were worried about the Gypsy King being out of character, I assure you that it will be taken care of soon. I needed him to behave earlier.

"A frame…we need wood!"

Quasimodo went to the storage room and passed up the common firewood for the extra building materials. Different colors of wood were stacked against the wall.

"I like this one," Andrew said, gesturing to the rich red-tinted cherry wood. Quasimodo retrieved a piece and tapped it to ensure the soundness—he didn't want it to split once he got started cutting it. There were a few monks working on various projects in the woodshed and they all started giving Quasimodo and Andrew suggestions on the design of the frame. Despite Quasimodo's ordinary clumsiness, he carefully cut the wood with astonishing precision. In Quasimodo's youth, Claude had encouraged his creativity, knowing it might keep him out of trouble. Several of the items in Quasimodo's possession were made by his own large hands.

"Like this," Quasimodo showed Andrew how to smoothly sand the edges. It was tedious work, but Andrew patiently did so. Not a single splinter would come out of this frame if he could help it! Afterward, Quasimodo fit the edges together, then worked on making a flat piece for the back to hold the drawing in. While he did that, Andrew polished the frame with the help of a nearby monk who was waiting on the coating of varnish to dry on his chair.

"Now, we need to put the finish on so that it will last a very long time," the monk instructed Andrew.

….

"So, what would you like to start with?" Jehan asked Ginger.

"Well…all books have pages, so we need paper," Ginger said, "and something to bind them together."

"I know of a book binder that owes me a favor," Jehan said, "you just make the pages."

"All right…"

She paused.

"I've never written a book before," she lamented, "I'm not really sure how to start. Esmeralda tells very good stories and so does Quasimodo. What if mine isn't very good?"

"It will be wonderful," Jehan assured her, "there is an old saying…write what you know. Is there a particular day that sticks out in your mind? A memory that you could talk about?"

Ginger thought for a moment.

"There was the time we were supposed to give Gabriel a bath and he seemed to know about it. Gabriel doesn't like baths very much…We chased him all over the cathedral and he went into the kitchen and knocked over a bag of flour. Then he went running through the hallway with a few monks chasing him but none of them could catch him. Father Claude opened the door to his study and Gabriel tried to jump into his arms, I guess. He got flour all over Father and Father wasn't very happy about that! Then Gabriel got away again when he saw that Father wanted him to have a bath as well and he went straight into the garden where he got in the mud. Father Claude was the one that caught him, but they both needed a bath by the time he managed to pick Gabriel up!"

Jehan chuckled.

"Father Claude handed him to us and said 'here, he's _your_ dog and I want the kitchen cleaned up along with him!' Gabriel didn't dare show his face around Father Claude for the rest of the day!"

"That's a good little story," Jehan said, "you could write about that one first."

Since Jehan had not yet learned how to read, Jacques helped Ginger spell out the words. He showed her how to use a ruler to make the letters go in a straight line. Jehan helped Ginger to draw the pictures. The likenesses of Claude and Gabriel were unmistakable and Jacques taught her how to make shadows and shades. They collected stories from several people and the book began to get very thick.

"We can all read it together on Christmas Day," Jacques told her, "and take turns."

Jehan gave the address of the bookbinder and Jacques and Ginger set out into the snowy cold to take the pages to him. Just in case, Jacques had a pouch of coins with him so that the little girl would not end up disappointed. He knocked on the heavy wooden door and Ginger shyly squeezed his other hand while clutching the bundle of pages to her chest.

"A monk, I see," the very fat man commented, "another Bible to repair, I suppose?"

"Actually, sir, we're hoping to get these pages bound," Jacques said, "the children wrote stories for the archdeacon, who, unfortunately, is still having a terrible time with his illness."

"I don't do jobs for children," the man scoffed, preparing to slam the door. Ginger's eyes began to fill with tears.

"Wait, sir! Jehan sent us!" Jacques said, catching the rapidly closing door with a gloved hand.

"Jehan, eh? I wonder what the old boy's up to," the bookbinder sighed, "well, don't just stand there, come in!"

He inspected the pages with a quick thumbing-through, then carried them over to his work table.

"You can pick up your book just before supper-time," he told them, "and don't be late because I close up my shop right then."

"We'll be here," Jacques said reassuringly.

"Now, then," the bookbinder said, "the little girl should choose a cover."

Ginger squealed and jumped up and down. She examined the different materials for covers and saw a bright scarlet one. All the other books in the library had dull, boring covers. She pointed to it and the bookbinder nodded.

"Excellent choice. If you have anymore shopping to do, you could do that while you wait."

The streets of Paris were filled with people walking from shop to shop and vendor to vendor. They sold all manner of things from apples and pies to combs to toys. Ginger was carrying a peppermint stick that Jacques had shared with her—he had snapped it in two and she was sucking slowly on one end.

"What an adorable little girl!" cooed an old woman from one of the street corners. Ginger looked up at her with big eyes…she had never seen a person with so many wrinkles. The woman had to be at least eighty.

"I do miss my grandchildren," the woman sighed, "but they're all living halfway across the country right now. Tell me, little one, are you out here Christmas shopping?"

Ginger nodded, unsure of whether she should speak to the stranger. Jacques's hand gave her a reassuring squeeze and she knew that nothing bad could happen to her with him there.

The old woman had several scarves in her possession that she had spent the stormy winter days making. Ginger examined them all and one of them stuck out in particular—it was a sheer, gauzy material like a spider's web only prettier. It was a deep indigo color and all through the material there were gold and silver moons and stars woven in. It was far prettier than the others.

"Want it?" she asked. Ginger reached out one hand to touch it gently.

"As soft as a spring colt's fur," she bragged on her work, "and it would make the prettiest woman even more beautiful."

Ginger silently agreed. But surely this would cost more than they had…

"Take it," the old woman whispered, winding it loosely around Ginger's neck, "it suits that radiant golden skin of yours. No charge."

"That's very kind of you," Jacques said gratefully, "I do hope you have someplace warm to go."

"Oh, I'll be fine," the old woman said, "it's been at least sixty or seventy icy Paris winters and they have yet to freeze these old bones. But my home is just that way."

She pointed across the street. Ginger smiled because she now had presents for both Claude and Esmeralda. This town outing had been much more fun and she wasn't worried about Phoebus or Joseph getting her. Twice, they stopped to listen to the carolers before eventually returning to the bookbinder's shop. Jacques let Ginger carry the book home and both were eager to dig into the shepherd's pie that the cook mentioned making that morning. Ginger was careful to hide the scarf under her pillow before going into the dining room.

Andrew had also done well that day. Knowing that Esmeralda was fond of apple tarts, he had asked the cook to help him make one. It was hard work to get one batch done, especially when the cook had so many other jobs, but she took pity on his big dark eyes. The batch of tarts was now safely hidden in the pantry. He had shaped them into all sorts of little things. His favorite was the one shaped like Gabriel's head.

Both children were very quiet at dinner, but it was only because they were afraid of letting their surprises slip. After they finished eating, they disappeared up the stairs and whispered conspiratorially to one another. Yes, Christmas at the cathedral would be very special that year.

Esmeralda felt refreshed from her break and returned to Claude's room. Jehan had fallen asleep with a book on his chest; she knew he could not read, but he seemed to like looking at the pictures. Half-finished doodles decorated a page in his hand and the stick of charcoal had fallen to the floor. He woke with a start when Esmeralda came in.

"Ah…" he groaned, stretching his sore muscles, "I think I could use a walk."

He didn't bother to say "let me know if Claude wakes up" anymore because it was well established that everyone would know when. Esmeralda waited until Jehan was gone before sitting on the side of Claude's bed. She very carefully moved over his legs until she was sitting on the side of the bed that went against the wall. Since it was only him, it appeared to not be an issue that the bed had been placed into the corner of the room. She had to get over there so she could see out the window.

Down below, people were still mingling, shopping, singing, and laughing. Children threw snowballs at each other, made snow angels, and built snow-men. Some rode on sleds, others had salvaged thin, flat things that could pass as sleds. The world seemed full of happiness that it was usually starved of.

"I wish you would wake up," Esmeralda told Claude, "and see this for yourself. It's absolutely wonderful…I wonder if it snows in Heaven."

She looked down at his still face and smoothed a strand of ash-blonde hair away from his forehead. She sat with her back against the wall beside him, her legs crossed and folded so that she didn't take up much room. The light was dim and gray by the window, but warm and golden nearer to the fireplace. She imagined what Claude would be doing at the moment if he weren't ill. He would probably be checking that things were in order for the Christmas service and fussing at little things. He would say that Christmas was one of the most important times of the year and that people must remember what happened during it. His clear, firm voice would ring out through the sanctuary of the cathedral as he practiced what he was going to say and his fingers would be ink-stained from scribbling haphazard notes onto a bit of parchment. Eventually when all the "important" things were taken care of, maybe she could convince him to take a break and they could sit by the fire together.

She wondered if he was even aware how close to Christmas they were. Could he still hear everything? Or would it be several days that he would never get back?

The light was growing dim. Jacques, Jehan, and the children were in the sanctuary with a few of the other monks. Kneeling by the statues, they prayed by candlelight. Christmas Eve was rapidly approaching. There was the conflict of absolute anticipation and joy with the fear that Claude would worsen or die altogether.

"It's awfully late," Jacques said wearily, "you children really should be in bed."

BONG!

Quasimodo was ringing the bells. The twelfth stroke marked midnight and the other monks rose from their nice warm beds to say their prayers. The children yawned sleepily and leaned their heads against each others'. Gabriel had fallen asleep on one of the pews and Andrew picked him up. He hardly moved, only politely wagging his tail once.

BONG!

The last stroke of midnight fell. Esmeralda had jolted awake during the echoing metallic sounds. She rubbed her eyes and tried to get the sleep to stop gluing them shut.

Then, she nearly jumped out of her skin. There was a very obvious twitch under the covers. The cathedral had fallen silent again except for the occasional snapping of the flames in the fireplace. She could only hear her own pounding heart in her ears.

Then, the glorious sight of blue-green eyes came into view. Claude was awake.


	19. Chapter 19

"Quasimodo is making enough to wake the dead," Claude muttered, rubbing his forehead.

"Or the very, very ill."

Her arms tightened around him. It was only then that he registered that she was there.

"Esmeralda," he gasped in shock, "you're back!"

"Of course I'm back," she mumbled, "you have no idea how worried we've all been!"

His eyes closed and he breathed in her scent. She smelled like cinnamon…

"You should have seen what the children went through…they came all the way to the Court of Miracles to find me," she said.

Claude stared at her in shock.

"By themselves?"

She cringed, realizing her mistake. Oh, he was not going to like this one bit…

"Yes," she said uneasily.

Claude sighed irritably.

"They _promised_ me they'd never run away! Stood right there and _promised_ me…"

"Don't be angry with them," Esmeralda begged, "they were worried sick about you. And they said they didn't exactly run away because they knew they would come back as soon as they'd found me."

"Praise God they're all right," Claude said weakly.

"Praise God that _you're_ all right," she replied, "you had such a nasty fever. At first, they said you were talking about things that didn't make sense. Then, you sort of fell asleep and didn't wake up…you were so still and so quiet. You'd gone from coughing all the time to not making a sound. It was frightening."

His hand reached up to stroke her face, but it was taking all of his effort to do so. She could feel his hand trembling and supported it with her own.

"I could feel you sometimes," he told her, "all the times you held my head against your chest. I could hear your heart beating. Sometimes I heard your voice though I don't remember what you said. And then…"

He coughed, but it was a fairly weak cough.

"Then, I saw Him…well, sort of…There was this white mist all around me, and then there was a glow…He doesn't show Himself directly, of course, and that's how I knew I was going to live, because no mortal man can look at Him directly and live. And He told me that I could not stay, that I had to return to the darkness for now. Then, He blew His breath in my face and everything went dim."

Esmeralda couldn't say that she understood or that she knew how Claude felt, for she had never experienced anything like that. She knew it must have been awfully powerful for him, however, and only listened with an open ear.

"I wanted to stay…I wanted to ask Him so many things," Claude lamented, "but I didn't have time. Maybe I wasn't to know the future."

He was still warm, but no longer hot like he had been.

"We'll cross that bridge when we come to it," she said softly, "until then, we'll live right here in the present. Do you know what day it is?"

He shook his head.

"Christmas Eve," she said softly, "you woke up just in time for it."

She ran her fingers through his hair and he didn't think he'd ever relished the human touch so much.

"I promised them all I would tell them," she said, slowly easing off of the bed, "I'll be back in just a moment."

He watched her pale purple skirts swirl around her legs as she went out the door. Thankfully, he noticed, she was wearing slippers instead of going barefooted like she often did even when it was cold. It was an absolute struggle to stay awake and he literally had to pinch himself a couple of times. Though the clock showed that little over three minutes had passed, he felt as though it were a lifetime.

_The last date I remember seeing was December 17__th__,_ he thought, _how can I have slept for five days and still be this tired?_

The room was suddenly flooded with people all talking at once. The tight hugs and sweet smells of pilfered pastries told him that the children had reached him first.

"We really should talk about the two of you leaving in the middle of the night without telling anyone," he commented. They both looked at him with their big dark eyes, mouths opening to protest.

"…I wanted to thank you both, but _don't_ do it again. I would be heartbroken if something happened to you."

Each one kissed him on the cheek and they finally dragged themselves off to bed. There were, of course, protests about not being allowed to stay there with Claude. Claude assured them he'd be all right though they didn't seem to believe him. Jehan was next in "line".

"Don't you ever scare me like that again or I'll wring your neck!" he scolded Claude, "I don't care how sick you are!"

"He spent more time praying than I did," Jacques commented.

"Yes, and I actually meant it!" Jehan said. Claude hadn't meant for Jehan to see his surprised expression, but it happened before he realized he'd made the face.

"I really do appreciate that, Jehan," Claude said, deeply touched.

"We're glad to have you back," Jacques said warmly, "Notre Dame wasn't the same at all without you."

Claude yawned so widely he was sure he'd dislocated his jaw.

"All right, everyone out! We want him not to make the same mistake twice, right?" Jehan said, shooing out all the others. He gave Esmeralda a knowing look and closed the door behind him.

"I do hope I haven't cost you your job," Esmeralda lamented, "but I couldn't help myself…I had to come back."

He was looking at her in fascination.

"I'm glad you did," he whispered, "I felt as if a very large hole had been torn right down my middle and bits of my insides were falling out. I don't feel completely whole unless you're here…"

He shifted so that he was better supported by the pillows. For the first time, they were laying side by side, her head resting against his chest. He coughed once or twice, but he assured her that her weight had nothing to do with it. She listened to his heartbeat, strong and steady, and wondered if that's what God sounded like. She hadn't realized she'd said that out loud until Claude's breath hitched.

"I've never thought about that," he admitted, "but He tells us to look for Him in everything…sometimes I think you're more wise than the rest of us will ever be. 'Blessed are those who have not yet seen and still believe'…"

She remembered reading that somewhere. Though she couldn't remember the exact reference, she remembered the story.

"That was after Jesus rose from the grave," she remembered, "and he was telling the Disciples to go and spread the Word to the ends of the Earth."

She felt Claude smile.

"Very good," he praised her, "you've kept up with your studies."

"I had to do _something_ while I waited for you to wake up," she answered.

He yawned again.

"I'm so sorry," he lamented, "but I can't seem to stay awake."

"It's all right," she said, giving his hand a squeeze, "you've been very sick. It will take a long time for you to get your strength back."

His hand was resting on her back now. It fit perfectly into the little hollow where her spine curved in ever so slightly.

"I'll certainly rest easier knowing you're here," he admitted.

Feeling her in his arms, warm and solid and real was enough to relax him. His eyes slid closed again and his breaths, though a little raspy, were deep and slow. She felt his ribs and belly moving, rising and falling underneath her in a soft rhythm. It was like ocean waves coming in and out. She knew from watching babies sleep that their bodies moved like this. It was the sleep of a person at peace. Eventually, her own eyes closed and she joined him where reality falls away and the world is made of hopes, dreams and desires.


	20. Chapter 20

When Esmeralda rolled over the next morning, she found the bed empty beside her. Surprised, she sat up to see that Claude was already dressed and had combed his hair. Judging by the wetness of it, she guessed he'd had a bath as well.

"Claude!" she protested, "you should be resting!"

He regarded her with a twinkle in his ocean-colored eyes.

"I'll sit down when I've had enough," he said rebelliously, "and from the looks of it, _you_ needed the rest. What time is it?"

He was teasing her. Again.

"I don't know," she admitted, for he was blocking the small clock's face.

"It's almost noon," he told her, "Jehan said not to wake you because you haven't had much sleep the last few days."

For someone who had once been a carefree drunkard, Jehan was turning out to be quite the mother hen. As if reading her thoughts, Claude chuckled.

"Do you know why he's doing this?"

She shook her head.

"Because we were the first ones to ever show him kindness," Claude said, crossing the room to stand in front of her.

"There's something else you aren't telling me," Esmeralda said accusingly.

He sighed, sitting down beside her. She could always tell when something was troubling him because his eyes gave it away every time. Though the rest of his face might change, his eyes always betrayed him. He had the most expressive eyes she'd ever seen.

"Very well," he muttered, "the bishop is visiting tomorrow, with it being Christmas. The others are going to tell him you've been here and it might be my last day. But you know what? I could care less. I've done plenty of things for Notre Dame. I want to be with you now."

Esmeralda's heart warmed.

"I would argue with you, you know," she replied, "but almost losing you was terrifying. I'm selfish for this, but I'm not letting go of you either. Things will work out…"

She suddenly thought of something that would mean more to Claude than any other present she could give him.

"Claude?"

"Hmmm?"

He had pulled her against him and was breathing in her smell.

"I want you to baptize me."

He froze for a moment, then turned her so that she was looking at him.

"Really?"

She nodded.

"So much has happened in the last several months…just when I thought I was done for, everything fell into place as if by magic…but it was His magic…there's no way I could not believe now."

He hugged her so tightly that she couldn't breathe good for a moment.

"Oh my…this is wonderful! Esmeralda…if nothing else went right this year, that alone would make it worth the trouble!"

He was quivering all over with joy and breathing so hard that she rubbed his back to calm him down.

"Easy, Claude, don't get overexcited," she warned him, not wanting him to have a relapse.

"I've never felt better in my life," he choked out, eyes filling with joyful tears. It was as though so much joy filled him that it spilled out of his heart and onto his cheeks. She kissed them away and relished the saltiness on her lips.

"On Christmas Day, too," he breathed, "it will inspire hope to all who see it!"

"Exactly."

"I've got to go tell Jacques!"

And away he dashed. Esmeralda smiled—it was as though the years were erased. He seemed feather-light and as energetic as a schoolboy. She giggled to herself when he ran through the cathedral shouting at the top of his lungs about her being saved. Jehan and Jacques couldn't get him to settle down. In the end, it was Quasimodo who bodily picked him up and sat him down by the fire.

"Sit down, Master," he said gently, "I will ring the bells to let all of Paris know!"

Claude was smiling more than anyone had ever seen him. Sensing that a distraction was needed so that he didn't take off running again, the children came tugging at his sleeves.

"Tell us The Story again," they begged. Though they were both growing fast and almost couldn't fit into Claude's narrow lap, he shifted around and accommodated both of them as best he could. It was a very tight fit and they both had to hold onto him or risk sliding off.

"All right," he gave in, "it all started when God saw that humans needed help learning how to love each other and love Him. Some of them felt very lonely and didn't understand that God was really with them all the time, they just thought He stayed up in Heaven all the time and never visited the earth. That's where Jesus comes in. Jesus always existed, but he was like a ray of sunshine or a cloud of smoke…no one really knows what he looked like before he was born except for God Himself. So, he chose a woman named Mary to give Jesus a body….that is, he would grow as a baby in her tummy and come out when he was ready…"

As Claude told them the story of the Nativity, Jacques and Jehan snuck off to wrap the presents for the children so that no one would get suspicious. The presents that were intended for Jacques and Jehan had already been wrapped by Esmeralda. Claude was relieved to know that Jacques and Esmeralda had already picked up gifts for the children that they would say were from him.

Lunchtime passed very quickly. The cathedral had been cleaned from ceiling to floor and no one dared track snow or mud in on the smooth stone floors or the soft rugs. The wooden pews had been polished to a bright gleam and the stained glass windows were bright in the dim light. The monks that were in the choir practiced singing in their tiered pews behind the stage with their snowy white robes without a single spot or wrinkle. The children paused to watch them for a moment. Tomorrow, they would be holding lit candles. Claude said it was fine to watch as long as they weren't disturbed.

He had special plans for this Christmas. After the sermon, he said, the offerings that people gave were going to be distributed to the poor.

"I really wish we could do it more than once a year," Claude confessed, "but people tend to forget about it the rest of the time."

The children went into the store room with him and collected dozens of baskets made from braided straw and woven reeds. They lined them with bits of cloth to make sure that none of the coins slipped out, then tied ribbons around the handles. Ginger decorated them even further by sticking sprigs of holly into the grooves of the handles.

"I don't know if we'll get the fullest baskets in Paris," she admitted, "but we'll have the prettiest ones."

"Yes we will." Claude placed a hand on her shoulder and wished everyone thought like children. The bright red and green decorated baskets might attract more attention than the plain ones. Quasimodo had kept his promise and was ringing the bells in a series of melodies. He knew exactly which ones made what sounds and they were going to the tune of a Christmas song.

"He sounds happy," Andrew commented on the lively tune that the bells were making.

"He must be," Claude laughed, "it takes a great deal of exercise to play a tune like that. Come on…we have a few other things to do."

There would be no lessons today or tomorrow since it was a holiday. After they had done all the chores that little hands were capable of, Claude sent them out to play. He wanted them to enjoy Christmas Eve and Christmas Day before they became adults and had to work all the time. He needed only to clear his throat when a stray snowball came sailing in through an open door.

"Let's not do it by the doors, please," he called as Esmeralda swept the snow back outside.

"Sorry!" Andrew called.

He stood there watching them for a moment.

"They're growing so fast," he commented, "I swear…Ginger was only up to here when I first saw her."

He held out a hand to show the height.

"Now she's to here. And Andrew is catching up with her."

Esmeralda paused in sweeping.

"They're not the only ones who have grown," she commented.

"Yes, I know," Claude said, still watching outside, "nothing makes one grow up faster than having children."

He turned to see Esmeralda pulling her own coat on.

"Where are you going?" he asked.

She grinned.

"Where do you think I'm going? Growing up is all fine and good, but I like being a child sometimes, too!"

And she bounded off into the snow.

Claude gave chase. The cold took his breath away. His chest and throat itched and for one dreadful moment, he thought he was going to start coughing again. When he didn't, he was relieved.

It didn't last for long.

SMACK!

A snowball hit him right in the face and exploded.

"Hey!" He protested.

"You didn't claim sanctuary," Ginger teased, "get him, Andrew!"

SMACK!

Claude had ducked and the snowball hit the wall behind him. Shaking his head, he bent and scooped up a handful of snow.

"Oh, no, you don't! I may be getting old, but I'm as fast as you are!"

Andrew shrieked with laughter when the snowball pelted him in the arm. Soon, the snowballs were flying thick. Suddenly, Claude was hit with several at once.

"What the…?"

It was then that he realized that some of the other clerics had joined the game. Claude didn't chastise them for leaving work and instead chased after them as well. Quasimodo got in on the game from above, casting clouds of powdery snow off the edge of the tower over them all. It didn't take long for Claude to get out of breath. He dropped onto a nearby bench, panting. He was very warm and knew he'd catch a chill if he started to sweat.

"Just a moment," he told them, "go get Jehan."

"Say it, quick!" Andrew warned, preparing to fling another snowball.

"Fine. Sanctuary. Now go on!"

They did. Claude chuckled to himself, wondering who had come up with the "sanctuary" idea.

The snow began to fall again and it promised to be a very chilly night. Everyone shook the snow out of their clothes and hair and helped to dust each other off. They stomped the snow off of their shoes before hanging their coats, cloaks, mittens, scarves, and hats in the entryway. At dinnertime, they were all ravenously hungry from the exercise and the laughter. Everyone's face glowed rosy with the cold and exercise. Somehow, despite the two or three hours of playing outside, all the preparations for tomorrow were in place and Claude did not have the slightest guilty conscience about going to bed early. He slept so heavily that he woke up a little cramped in the middle of the night and had to stretch his sore shoulder before going back to sleep.

BONG!

Claude jerked awake, sitting up.

"Quasimodo," he mumbled irritably before it occurred to him what the hunchback was doing.

BONG! Clang! Ding! Dong!

It was officially Christmas. Claude smiled once his heart stopped pounding and lay awake listening to the melody. No doubt that everyone in the cathedral was doing the same…

The next time Claude woke, the sky was still turning from royal blue to gray.

"Wake up, Father! It's Christmas!"

Both children were talking so fast he could hardly understand them. Still all ghostly white in their night clothes, they pounced on him and tugged at him until he sat up. Esmeralda was right behind them.

"Sorry," she apologized, "they run so fast…I turned my back once and they were gone."

"It only comes once a year," Claude commented, indicating all was forgiven.

"Come _on_!" Ginger gave a particularly hard tug and almost yanked him out of bed.

"Go get dressed," Claude told them, "and then come downstairs. You'll get a chill in your nightgowns!"

They sighed and ran upstairs.

"I'd better go help them," Esmeralda laughed, "or they'll end up with everything inside out and backwards!"

"In a moment."

He shook his covers out and straightened them. Then, he pulled her into his arms.

"Merry Christmas, Claude," she said sweetly.

"Merry Christmas," he replied before kissing her in a rather un-priestly way. She crushed herself against him, all warmth and womanly curves. Claude felt the flames ignite and spread all over. His hands ran down her sides, up and down and lit flames under her skin as well.

"We'd better stop," she whispered, "while we still can."

Reluctantly, he released her.

"If you insist on pressing against me like that, I won't be able to," he reminded her. She ran her fingertips over one of his flushed cheeks and smiled.

"I'd better go help the children."

He nodded, watching her go upstairs. She still wore her soft cotton nightgown and it clung to her warm skin. One sleeve had slipped down her shoulder a little and a sliver of golden back was visible. Her bare feet danced over the stones as she hurried back to the bell tower. He gave a sigh and began to get dressed. One of these days, he would be able to stop stealing little moments here and there like a thief and really claim her as his treasure.

The white and gold robes made him look very festive. Many of the other monks were also wearing brand-new robes with silver stitching in the trim, but none looked as nice as he did (though Claude himself would never ever make that assumption). That morning's service went quite smoothly and even the gypsies seemed to care about what was being said. There wasn't a single boo, hiss, or heckle from them at all and some even smiled at him. The children had yet to make an appearance, which worried him just a little, but he was sure they couldn't get into that much trouble.

Then, it was time for the baptism. Esmeralda had changed into a plain white robe that Jacques had given her. She approached the baptismal pool without hesitation and stepped into the water. Claude was a little concerned about her getting cold, but he saw a little bit of steam coming off of it and realized it had been heated.

_Thank goodness…that was nice of the cook. I'll have to give her a day off sometime soon,_ Claude thought.

"This is Esmeralda," he said, introducing her to the congregation, "and on this most important day of the year, she has chosen to give her life to God."

His eyes suddenly met a very familiar pair in the crowd. The bishop was here. Claude swallowed nervously, but refused to let his nerves get the best of him. Willing himself to keep his voice steady and strong, Claude asked Esmeralda if she had truly accepted God as her ruler and savior. After she had said yes, he eased her back into the water and submerged her. There was a huge amount of clapping and cheering from the crowd.

Then, the children were there. They were also wearing white robes. Claude, stunned and surprised, began to tremble. He glanced over at Jacques who nodded. Apparently, they _did_ understand what they were doing. Andrew was first, then Ginger. Some people were so moved that they began to get out of their pews and push past everybody. Claude lost count of how many people were saved on that wonderful Christmas morning.

Everyone was late getting to lunch due to the unexpected delays. Claude braced himself for the tongue-lashing he knew he was going to get. Esmeralda was careful to disappear into the crowd.

"Very moving, Dom Claude," the bishop said sternly, "but I think you know why I'm here."

"Yes, sir," Claude said, sounding like a child who had been scolded.

"Word was sent to me that you were very ill. Even now, you look very pale and thin."

Claude swallowed nervously and stared at the rings on the bishop's hands. He didn't dare look the bishop in the face.

"You love Esmeralda very much, don't you?"

"Yes, sir…"

Claude's voice sounded quiet and small. If the bishop hadn't seen his mouth move, he would have sworn that Claude hadn't spoken at all.

"I want to have a word with all of you tomorrow," the bishop said, "in your office. Do not be tardy."

"Yes, sir."

It was very hard to pretend as though everything was fine. It wasn't until the children reappeared again that Claude really smiled. Esmeralda had dressed them both very nicely and she was a vision in a scarlet-colored dress with gold trim. Slowly, the guests diffused after Christmas dinner and the small family gathered by the fireplace. They took turns reading Ginger's book out loud and he admired Andrew's drawing in the frame. He promised to hang it where everyone could see it. Esmeralda wrapped the beautiful scarf around her neck and shared Andrew's batch of tarts with everyone. There were a few more gifts exchanged and then the children took off to play with their new toys. In Claude's opinion, it was the best Christmas ever.

"He said something to you, didn't he?" Esmeralda asked Claude once everyone else had gone.

"Yes. But I don't care anymore," Claude said firmly, "he cannot make me stop feeling something regardless of whether I leave the cathedral or not."

"Don't worry," Esmeralda said, gently rubbing his shoulders, "I'll never leave you and neither will God and that's all that matters, right?"

He leaned back into her touch, eyes closing in contentment.

"Right."


	21. Chapter 21

The next morning dawned all too soon. After being buried in snow, Paris was greeted by early morning sunshine. Claude thought he would have trouble sleeping, but he didn't. Nevertheless, he was awake when the first sliver of blood-red sun appeared on the horizon. He chose not to have breakfast; he was too worried and his stomach felt as though it were dissolving into mush.

He was surprised when everyone else had beat him to the office, but none of them had actually gone in. The children, he guessed, were still sleeping. Quasimodo, Jehan, Jacques, and Esmeralda were there, however. None of them could look him straight in the face. His heart was thundering as he cautiously reached for the doorknob and went inside.

The bishop was waiting, drumming his fingers on Claude's desk.

"Sit down, Claude. The rest of you, out!"

They obeyed reluctantly. The door shut with a snap and Claude cringed at the sound. A few moments of uncomfortable silence passed. Claude was unsure of what to do: part of him wanted to cry and beg the bishop not to break up their family. Part of him wanted to tell the bishop that he could just walk out right then and there and never look back at Notre Dame. Part of him wanted to pretend that nothing was going to happen. He did none of these things, nervously bouncing his leg and swallowing the bitter lump in his throat.

"I believe we discussed this the last time, did we not?" The bishop's voice was far more sharper than a needle and more dangerous than an executioner's noose.

"Y-yes, sir," Claude stuttered nervously.

"I heard tell that you were seriously ill, so you were not the one who invited her back, correct?"

"My children brought her back, sir," Claude choked out, "I was unconscious during that time."

The bishop nodded.

"I spoke with the doctor. He said you were suffering from an extremely high fever for several days."

Claude waited for the axe to fall.

"She returned because she was worried for your health," the bishop guessed, "and I heard tell that you were ill up until Christmas Eve and are still somewhat recovering, are you not?"

Claude nodded slowly.

"I still perform my duties, but I take frequent breaks," he admitted, "I had to go to bed several hours early yesterday."

"I'm aware," the bishop said, "I was looking for you."

Part of Claude wanted to scream in frustration. Could he not just get it over with?

"You are such a vital force in Paris that I am very reluctant to dismiss you from this cathedral," the bishop finally said, "and I frankly don't want to."

"But…?" Claude prompted, getting impatient.

"Others would insist that I take action," the bishop said, "but…to put it in your dear brother's terms, 'to Hell with that'."

Claude stared, confused.

"I am one of the most powerful men here," the bishop said, "even more powerful than you. And I am much older and I've seen things you have yet to see."

His face betrayed nothing. Claude, however, could feel the sweat trickling down the back of his own neck.

"Many, many men join the Order and they take the vows. Regardless of what happens to them, they have stability due to those vows. As I'm sure you know, temptation is everywhere. Many of them break their vows and don't know what they're getting into. I'm sure you've seen the results of that."

Claude nodded.

"However, you seem to be a very…how shall I put this? You appear to be a very unique case."

Claude still didn't get it.

"I don't understand, sir," he admitted.

"Not yet," the bishop said simply, "but you will. Step outside and tell Esmeralda to come in here."

The morning had never gone so slowly. One by one, they were called in to talk to the bishop and every single one of them was made to promise they wouldn't tell Claude about what was discussed. Every single church staff member was also questioned. After an agonizing two hours' worth of interrogation, Claude was called back into the office.

"Sit," he said sharply. Claude's shoulders slumped…this wasn't going to be pretty.

"Under the circumstances, I have only one option left," the bishop said, "I have talked to every single person in this cathedral minus the children because they aren't up yet. It's clear that this is affecting your life far more than I ever would have guessed…I wasn't aware that you became ill almost immediately after she left."

Claude's heart sank towards the center of the earth. Here it came…

"It's obvious that you have become so attached to her that it would be a danger to you if you both were separated. I wish you the best of luck with that."

Claude nodded and moved to get up, but the bishop raised a hand. Claude sank back into his seat.

"I do _not_ want word of this getting to the other monasteries and cathedrals," the bishop said firmly, "because that will complicate matters. Do you understand what I'm telling you?"

Claude nodded.

"You want me to go away quietly and not make a fuss," he sighed, "and I will. I just want to say goodbye to the others,"

He was cut off by a raised hand again.

"You'll do no such thing."

"But sir—"

"No buts. You're not saying goodbye because you're not leaving."

"What?"

"You're staying if I have to chain you to that pulpit myself. But you are also going to marry Esmeralda and make an honest woman of her."

There was a rustling thump when Claude slid out of the chair.

"Oh…" he groaned, turning his face away from the smelling salts.

"He's coming to," Jacques announced, "easy does it, Claude, you're all right. Just lay still for a moment."

Claude blinked and the world came back into focus. Their worried faces filled his field of vision.

"I must have another fever," Claude mumbled, "because I heard the strangest thing before I went out…"

"No, you heard me correctly," the bishop was saying. Claude stared, wide-eyed. Despite the sternness in his voice, there was a sparkle in his eye.

"You're getting married. _Tomorrow._"

Esmeralda let out a shriek of joy and embraced him.

"But what about Phoebus and Joseph?" Claude couldn't help but ask.

"Captain Phoebus is dead," the bishop answered, "he was executed for murder. And Joseph…well, it's unlikely he'll ever find you. I transferred him to a budding monastery in a foreign land. He's going to be a missionary. There's plenty of ocean between you and him."

"Oh," was all Claude could manage.

"I shall return tomorrow. No one outside of this cathedral is invited, understand? I can't let this be a widely announced event or there will be dire consequences to us all. Now, I have work to do and so do you."

With that, he was gone.

It took everyone a moment to stop being shocked. Then, the room burst into cheers and excitement.

"I don't have to leave! You don't have to leave! We can be _together_!" Esmeralda was crying and laughing all at once.

"Forever?" Ginger asked.

"Oh…how much did you hear?" Jacques asked.

"What she said," Ginger said, rubbing her eyes with one hand and pointing at Esmeralda with the other.

Claude sat up and gestured for Ginger to come. She did. He took both of her little hands in his and squeezed.

"That's right, little one. _Forever._ Esmeralda doesn't leave, I don't lose my job, and we don't lose each other. _Ever again._"

Ginger let out an excited squeal. She tore loose from Claude's grip and ran yelling all the way to the tower.

They all turned to look at Claude.

"I wonder who she learned that from," Jehan said with a wink. Then, he said:

"What are we just standing around here for? We have a wedding to work on!"

Everyone split up. The other monks did not know how to act—they had _never_ heard of a priest being permitted to marry. Then again, they were getting used to seeing all manner of odd things as of this last year. Without protest, they did everything Claude asked and was assured that it would not affect their day-to-day lives at all. Esmeralda was swept away by Jehan, who took her to a "friend" that ran the dress shop. With Phoebus gone, he no longer had to fear being seen in public (as long as he wasn't drinking). Esmeralda suspected that there was more going on between Jehan and this "friend" than real friendship, but she chose not to pry. The woman was kind enough and asked Esmeralda's opinion on every little detail. Soon, she declared that Esmeralda would have a dress fit for the Queen herself. Several of the seamstresses worked late into the night with the promise of a mighty rise in pay for the job and they never questioned where Jehan got the money. By the next morning, the dress was completely done and fit Esmeralda perfectly. It was almost as if God Himself had done the measurements.

She stood, breathless, in front of the full-length mirror. The dress was cut very conservatively, but it did not flatter her any less. The snowy white lace was layered on top of a cream-colored material designed to enhance her skin. The dressmaker also insisted on little bits of green ribbon here and there to bring out her eyes. The yards of satin made her feel like royalty. How was it possible that true life was better than fairy-tales?

"Esmeralda!" Jacques called, "hurry up! You'll be late for your own wedding!"

She made one final adjustment to her veil. Jacques looked very fine in his dress robes. She would carry a candle since she had no flowers; it didn't bother her at all. To her, this was better. She skidded to a halt just before she got to the doors to the sanctuary.

"Sir," she gasped, seeing the Gypsy King.

"Esmeralda," he said gruffly, "I came to tell you what a big mistake you're making…but I won't. I know you won't change your mind no matter what I say, but a priest of all things?"

Esmeralda sighed and the smile did not fade from her lips.

"I love him very much," she said firmly, "and I always will."

Clopin glanced at the door.

"I'm just making it known that I will castrate him myself if he ever hurts you."

That surprised Esmeralda.

"Oh…"

"And since you have no father to walk you down the aisle, I am the next in line."

"Why are you doing this?" she suddenly asked as he took her arm.

He smiled, revealing several rotten teeth and a sinister expression.

"I still don't like him. I just want to make that clear. But he has been good to you and he didn't have to save your life or that of the children. I consider myself a fair king most of the time."

Just before they reached the doorway, however, he said "just warn us when you get back in town. Anyone who's not near the cathedral is fair game, you know."

Esmeralda smiled more.

"That will be our little secret."

"I will miss your dancing. It was our biggest money-maker."

With that, he pushed the door open and the music played. Claude turned his head to look and stared in shock. He wasn't sure what knocked the wind out of him more: how beautiful Esmeralda looked or the Gypsy King who led her down the aisle. The bishop performed the marriage and Jacques signed as a witness. Instead of his usual priest's robes, Claude wore simple black trousers and a simple white shirt. His black shoes had been polished to a bright sheen and his ornate silver cross still hung around his neck. They were to spend a week at Jehan's old house out in the countryside, which Jehan assured them had been cleaned and stocked with everything they needed for a nice honeymoon. Then, away the carriage swept. Before they knew it, they reached a small stone cottage by the shore of a lake. The cold was intense, but the sunshine had held all day. As they carried their things into the house, they noticed the clouds piling up on the horizon.

"Looks like we got here just in time," Claude commented, "it's going to snow again. Hard. First things first: let's bring some wood in and get a fire going."

Esmeralda didn't argue. She changed out of her wedding dress and into her regular clothes. She was pleased to see that she could carry just as much firewood as Claude could without straining. He objected at first, but saw that she wasn't going to change. Before long, the flames roared to life and filled the chilly house with warmth.

"Look at that," Claude commented, pointing to the kitchen counter. The most beautiful cake that Esmeralda had ever seen was sitting there. She smiled, recognizing the frosting doodles.

"The children," she laughed, pointing to a supposed drawing of her and Claude on the side.

"I'll take the trunk upstairs," he told her, "why don't you cut the cake?"

She did. She hated to ruin such a beautiful cake, but she cut two slices and put them on the small plates. Even though several of the dishes were cracked and looked as if they had been recycled from rich people's houses, they were at least carefully cleaned. Claude returned with a sheen of sweat on his forehead.

"Heavier than I thought," he panted, "I never noticed that this morning."

They had not had a wedding reception since the whole thing was supposed to be kept a secret, but they fed each other cake as custom dictated. Though neither had yet had any dinner and had been too nervous to eat much during the rest of the day, they weren't hungry. The winds howled outside and the snow whipped against the glass, but it could not get inside.

"A blizzard," Claude commented half-heartedly, "it couldn't have happened at a better time. Just ten minutes ago, we'd have been caught outside."

"But we weren't," she said, drawing a pattern in the fog on the glass, "amazing how everything's worked out, isn't it?"

It was strange seeing him in ordinary clothes. He had dressed that way so as not to attract any outside attention. It just seemed…wrong. She had never seen him in anything else besides his robes.

Except…

Esmeralda blushed noticeably and Claude placed his fingertips under her chin.

"What?" he pressed.

"I'm not used to seeing you in a commoner's dress," she admitted, "you look so much thinner without your robes."

He pretended to buy it though he knew her mind had probably drifted elsewhere.

"Regardless of how I dress, it changes nothing," he reminded her, "only God can change a man…or a woman on the inside."

His eyes drifted to the snow swirling outside for a moment, then back to her.

"Know what I was thinking?"

His voice was soft against her ear.

"I was thinking of Adam and Eve," he said, voice turning husky, "and what it must have been like when they first met. And how they knew everything about each other and they weren't ashamed of anything…"

She blushed earlier because she remembered seeing him naked in the tub. Even then in the firelight, she hadn't seen any intimate places, only his bare back, chest, and stomach.

The thing that made her nervous is that he was going to see her as well. How was it that she'd never gotten cold feet until now?

He seemed to sense her nervousness and ran his fingertips along her cheek.

"We have all the time in the world," he said reassuringly.

She slid into his lap, content to stay there for the time being. She could feel his body quivering with want and the longing in his touch, but he was being patient for her sake. He kissed her very gently as if she were made of glass. He was careful not to even move very suddenly for fear he would startle her. It was so sweet the way he cared more for her than himself. That in itself sparked a flame in Esmeralda's soul and built a slow, smoldering ember that began to build.


	22. Chapter 22

A/N: Yes, yes, I know. The famous "honeymoon chapter" that most fan-fiction readers either really like or really don't. It's not going to take away from the story if you choose to skip it. I don't write really graphic intimate scenes, so it shouldn't be too bad: I'd rather let all of your own imaginations do the work there (hint…hint).

The snow howled and beat at the small cottage. It was a little on the drafty side and Claude had been trying to get the fire to go as high as it would go. As soon as it was roaring and sending enough heat out, he took her back into his arms. His kisses were very careful, very tender. It was as if he thought he would frighten her by being too rough when nothing could be further from the truth. She guided his timid hands, teaching him little by little. In a lot of ways, she was learning as well. Poor Claude was getting redder and redder in the face and he burned as though he had a fever. She remembered the first time he had ever dared touch her hair and her face; she had fled from him. His voice had gotten so sharp with her and she detested him using that tone…He hadn't done it since.

There in the firelight, she eased away the white shirt. Claude seemed terribly self-conscious about his scars and kept twisting away from the light. Her hand fearlessly caught him and held him in place. He seemed to cringe as her hands touched his scars at first…she knew she wasn't hurting him, he was just afraid. Eventually, he began to relax and melt under her touch and the scars were forgotten.

"Just like Adam and Eve," he sighed contentedly, "together and unashamed…"

It was the last coherent thing he was able to say. Every time he drew a sound from her, he got a surprised smile. Every time she did the same thing, she of course was smiling as well. Everything was so new and intense to him that he seemed almost childlike. When, at last, they had stripped away all the clothing and could really look at each other, they really were like Adam and Eve: in love and completely unashamed of themselves or each other. Though Claude was still painfully thin from his long illness, he would recover eventually. She watched the slender muscles move under his very pale skin and was vaguely surprised that anyone that pale could be so warm to the touch. He was looking at her, too, admiring the honey-golden skin that glowed in the firelight. They complemented each other well, just like honey and cream. Darkness fell outside and they joined together just as the sky went from being dark gray to soft blue. The snow still howled outside, but it seemed to be worlds away from them.

He couldn't move, couldn't breathe, couldn't do anything. A glowing hot feeling surged upward through him and paralyzed him. He felt Esmeralda's whole body squeezing and tightening around him, heard her gasp in his ear. An involuntary cry had escaped his throat and he shuddered violently.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Claude knew that this was where he had given his seed to her. It had never occurred to him that something so ancient and primitive would feel this good…his whole body had been scorched by fire just a moment ago. Now, there was only a pleasant warmth and a thin sheen of sweat. Until now, he'd been under the impression that the only people who liked it were sinners…he wanted to laugh at his mistake.

Esmeralda rubbed his back and his bottom, up and down. He lay with his eyes closed for a moment, trying to catch his breath. He could feel her breath as well; she was breathing as hard as he was. Her heart thundered against his and he smiled against her shoulder. She'd liked it just as much as he had. He had been a little worried about that, but he knew he'd worried needlessly.

Very reluctantly, he separated himself from her. He wasn't sure why he was suddenly so exhausted. Maybe it had been the days events that made him so sleepy. Though the floor was hard and cold and the rug they were currently laying on offered little protection, he was perfectly fine with staying right there.

"Claude," Esmeralda's voice penetrated the haze in his mind, "let's go upstairs to bed."

They went without bothering to get dressed. They had only just made sure that their clothes were far enough away from the fireplace to keep from catching on fire. Claude yawned so hard that he thought he'd broken his jaw for just a second. They slid into the bed and curled around each other before falling into a deep sleep.

Night fell over the cathedral. It wasn't the same without Claude and Esmeralda.

"I understand the need for time alone," Jacques sighed, "but I do miss my old friend. He's been quite the jester since Esmeralda lifted his spirits."

Jehan nodded.

"He's finally learning to take a joke as well as make one. The children miss him as well. Even Quasimodo seems kind of down."

They sat together by the fireplace in the kitchen.

"That cottage seemed rather drafty," Jacques commented, "I hope they can keep warm enough."

Jehan roared with laughter.

"Jacques, bless your soul…I keep forgetting you're a monk!"

Jacques raised an eyebrow.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Claude and Esmeralda, I assure you, can keep each other warm enough. That poor thing…you should have seen the faces he made when Esmeralda kissed him. He couldn't even see straight half the time. Sometimes he'd get that glazed-over look just at the sound of her voice. I bet he acts like the happiest man on earth when he returns, and why wouldn't he?"

"Well, of course he would, he just married the love of his life," Jacques commented.

"No, Jacques, I don't think you understand…he's been walking around with an unsatisfied body for most of his life. He just didn't know it until this year," Jehan tried to spell it out, "he'll feel better now that he's not trying to deny his own needs."

Jacques made a face and Jehan laughed again.

"The disciple Paul said that it was better to do without if you were capable of it," he commented, "but it is better to marry than to burn. That's probably why the bishop chose to make an exception. As for Claude himself, well, I prefer not to have that image in my head."

"I was only teasing," Jehan called after him when Jacques left.

"No, you weren't," Jacques said, "anyway, it's Ginger and Andrew's bedtime. God knows they'll never be in bed on time if we leave it up to you. You'll keep them up with ridiculous stories and sweets that they aren't supposed to have."

Jehan sighed.

"Jacques, dear brother, you are such a stick in the mud."

He laughed.

"Someone has to be while Claude's gone. When he gets back, he can resume his position of stick in the mud. In the meantime, he trusts me."

"Fine," Jehan sighed. He hoped that Claude wouldn't notice the amount of sugar that was missing. He decided to show them how to make snow-ice-cream tomorrow.

When Claude could finally string together a coherent thought, he began to notice several things. The first was that he was impossibly warm all over; the bitter cold seemed unable to touch him. The iciness in his soul had finally shattered and melted. He had never felt this contented before; he finally felt whole. He no longer felt frustrated and angry and nervous…some deep longing within him was now fulfilled. He now had a companion, someone to share his life with. There were places in it that he trusted Esmeralda to see that no one else could venture into. She had seen his scarred-up body and loved him still. He couldn't say she'd thought nothing of it; he knew she had. He remembered the night when she'd snuck downstairs under the hood to the kitchens. He remembered her trying to pose as Quasimodo so as not to be discovered. How embarrassed he'd been! He smiled peacefully, knowing he would be embarrassed in the future, but not in this way.

"What are you smiling at?" Esmeralda asked sleepily.

"I was just remembering the night you saw me in the tub," Claude commented truthfully, "and how mortified I was when I realized it had been you and not Quasimodo."

Her fingers traced his scars.

"I have no idea why. It seemed not to bother you before," she said slyly.

Claude flushed deep red. Apparently, he'd been wrong about never being embarrassed again.

"That was different," he defended himself, "that was all theoretical. I don't think any of us actually reacts the way we say we will. Besides…I didn't exactly count on you ever being attracted to me."

Her green eyes glittered with humor.

"Can we go upstairs? I'm getting a sore back from this hard floor."

They disentangled themselves and Claude scooped her up as if she weighed nothing.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

Claude's blue-green eyes twinkled.

"Taking you upstairs properly," he said, "I've always heard it was done this way."

"You mean over the threshold?" she corrected him.

Claude winced.

"Oops…I knew I was forgetting something. Oh, well! We're not exactly a traditional couple, are we?"

He took the stairs so fast that she was worried he'd either trip and fall or get a splinter in his bare feet (the stairs were wooden). They arrived safely, though, and it looked as though Claude was getting in a very affectionate mood. She blew in his ear, making him laugh and almost drop her.

"That tickles!" he choked.

She squeezed one side causing him to yelp and cringe away from her. He was laughing so much that it was easy to escape from him.

"Just where do you think you're going?" he protested.

Seeing that she wasn't coming back, he came towards her. She turned and scrambled across the bed to the other side. Claude stared at her for a second; he didn't know what to think. After a second, he gave an aggravated sigh and came after her. She flung herself on her stomach and crawled under the bed.

"Esmeralda!"

"What's the matter, Claude? Body getting the best of you?" she teased, seeing his desire get a little more obvious each time she got away from him. She dashed around the bed this time and he nearly cut her off. When she still got away, he crossed his arms and huffed.

"I see how you are," he mumbled, "I suppose you'll just have to sleep alone in that freezing bed tonight."

"Guess I am," she retorted. His mouth dropped open before he realized she was joking.

"Stop jesting with me!"

"I can't help it, Claude. You usually take things so seriously."

She let out a shriek of surprise when he suddenly lunged for her and pinned her down to the bed.

"You're not getting away now!" he hissed in her ear.

"All right, then."

She ran her fingers through his hair. He shuddered slightly when her fingers brushed his tonsure, the shaved area at the back of his head. The skin there was especially sensitive and he wasn't used to being touched there. His own hands ran through her raven-dark hair and relished its silkiness.

It was a quiet week and they didn't have anyone else there. Claude only had to go retrieve the firewood from the woodshed; they didn't have a lot of other things to do. Esmeralda wasn't much of a cook and neither was Claude. Until they both figured out some of the basics, several of their meals consisted of bread and cheese. Luckily, they were both able to laugh about their burnt and smoking mistakes while they fanned the smoke out of the kitchen. The day before leaving, they gave up trying to cook and gave the kitchen a thorough cleaning and hoped that Jehan never figured out how many things they'd accidentally burned there. The smell of food-turned-charcoal was still faintly in the air after a good airing out of the kitchen. Huddled in blankets together, they tolerated the cold for the sake of getting rid of the smell.

"I'm looking forward to getting back," Claude confessed, "I do believe I've gotten spoiled to having a full-time cook at the cathedral."

"Same here," Esmeralda said, "I was never a decent cook to begin with. I seem to burn everything I touch."

Claude jokingly pulled away from her and she playfully cuffed him on the shoulder.

"Thanks," she teased.

The next morning was cold, but it dawned clear. They had already packed the trunk up. The carriage came to get them and they climbed in eagerly. The snow was so deep that it almost came over the top of Claude's boots.

"I miss my robes," he confessed, "I feel very strange in these clothes."

Before they let anyone know they were back, he _did_ go upstairs and change. She watched him strip down to his long underwear, then layer on the black priest's robes. The last touches were the crucifix necklace he wore and the black skull-cap that covered his tonsure. He looked like himself again and she was grateful for that.

"Let's go see our children," he told her.

_Our children, _not _the children._

Esmeralda slipped her hand in his and felt the warmth soak right through her skin into her soul.

As they went down the hallway, she found herself wondering what a child of hers and Claude's would look like. Would he or she have her eyes or Claude's? Her exotic features or Claude's fair skin and rounded face?

_I probably shouldn't worry about that now,_ she thought, _we've got enough to worry about without an extra little one to keep track of._


	23. Chapter 23

It was amazing how addicted one got to tiny hands and high-pitched squeals. Claude never realized how much he had missed the children until they pounced on him. They jumped from Claude to Esmeralda and back again, both talking at once. Jacques smiled warmly and Quasimodo was laughing his strange laugh. Gabriel was barking noisily, running in circles.

The change in Claude's demeanor was remarkable; his cheeks were rosy and his eyes had a spark in them that had not been seen since Esmeralda had left. One only had to look at him to tell that he fell more deeply in love each day.

True to his word, Claude went about his duties without a problem. The bishop checked on him frequently only to be pleasantly surprised: things were running better at the cathedral than they ever had! Claude seemed much more calm, much more patient, and at the same time, more infused with energy than he ever had been.

"I believe that the weight of longing on his soul was affecting him more than any of us could have guessed," Jacques had commented, "and now that the weight is gone, his energy can be spent on more productive things."

Jehan didn't even have the heart to tease Claude…he only had a knowing smile.

Of course, the two of them had trouble squashing into Claude's tiny single-sized bed, so a bigger one had to be made. Since the doors were a little bit too narrow, the bed had to be brought in piece by piece and then assembled. Keeping to the modesty of the cathedral, it was a simple design. Panting and puffing, Jehan and Jacques had brought in a fat featherbed and hoisted it onto the frame.

"Straw crinkles too much," he said to Claude, giving him a suggestive wink.

Claude's face burned hotly and he cuffed Jehan on the shoulder. The children did not really understand what he meant.

"That means we can jump on it!" Ginger said, thinking that's what he meant.

"Oh, no you don't! If that mattress gets a hole in it, there will be feathers all over the place," Jacques warned them, "as much fun as it sounds, you don't want them to be without a bed, do you?"

"No…" Ginger admitted guiltily.

"I do appreciate all this," Claude commented, "but I'm feeling a little selfish at the moment."

"Why?" Jehan asked.

"Because…"

He leaned over and whispered into his brother's ear.

"I see," Jehan said, glancing over at the children.

"What? What?" Andrew and Ginger demanded.

"So…have the two of you been good while we were gone?"

"Yes!" both practically shouted.

"Have you kept up with your studies and behaved?"

"Yes!"

"Good."

They realized that the change of subject meant something, but neither could figure it out. Later, after Ginger and Andrew were tucked in, Jacques, Quasimodo, Claude, Esmeralda, and Jehan snuck downstairs and met in the sanctuary.

"I asked them if they wanted a different room since it's clear they're not going anywhere," Jehan said, "but they like the bell tower. They said they like to see the sunrise from there."

"Exactly," Claude said, "it gets dreadfully cold up there…I'm surprised I didn't think of it sooner. They need better living arrangements. They're both getting older and they're going to need privacy soon. We're going to do something about that."

He retrieved a quill pen and a piece of scrap parchment and began to diagram out his idea. They were going to make use of the space they already had, but partition it off to make three smaller rooms. They would have doors that shut so that the bats and birds were no longer a disturbance. There would also be a way to keep them warm, though he was still working on that. Quasimodo's room would also be getting a facelift, which the little hunchbacked man was ecstatic about.

The other priests were happy to help with the project. The bell tower was cleaned out and the bells shone like they were freshly forged. The whole cathedral was cleaned from top to bottom as winter melded into spring. The smells of soap and freshly cut lumber filled the place up. The children gathered up the shavings and made things out of them. The project took an awfully long time, but it was well worth it. By the time the flowers sprang up all over Paris, the partitioned rooms and their doors were all finished.

"I'll bet the king himself doesn't have such a nice room," Jehan remarked. The new beds had been brought in. The quilts and sheets were still warm from the spring sunshine and smelled like soap and flowers. Andrew and Ginger had brought in freshly picked flowers and they were resting in tin cups of water. The rooms were quite small, but none of them minded. Quasimodo's own room had also been modified and rearranged. The bell tower was now a nicer place to stay than some of the people's houses down below.

Claude still couldn't believe that the children wouldn't leave the tower, but he was glad he had at least made it nice for them.

The only issue they had was deciding whose bed that Gabriel would sleep in. Claude told them that they had to take turns with the dog or he'd make Gabriel stay downstairs. That solved that problem.

As spring progressed, Claude believed he was by far the luckiest man in the world. But just when he had learned to enjoy all of it, something awful happened.

Esmeralda became violently ill. At first, he thought it was something she'd eaten, but Jehan, Jacques, he, and the children had all eaten the same thing. It seemed that no matter what they did, she was sick. The slightest offensive sight, sound, or smell made her stomach turn. She was pale, thin, and shaky. He was worried about her.

After the most recent bout of vomiting, he sent for the doctor. Jacques escorted the doctor upstairs. Esmeralda sat trembling in Claude's arms. Tears leaked down her cheeks because she was so frustrated and he did the best he could to soothe her.

"What's _wrong_ with me?" she whimpered.

The doctor felt her face.

"No fever," he mumbled, then, he asked Esmeralda to lie down. She did, keeping Claude's head in her lap. He probed her stomach, feeling the slightest of a bump.

"What is it? Can you help her or not?" Claude demanded impatiently.

The doctor's smug expression was enough to make Claude want to punch him.

"It's nothing that won't go away in nine months," he said teasingly.

"Don't jest with me!" Claude snarled, "What's the matter with her?"

"Nothing. She's with child."

Claude's mouth dropped open.

"Are you sure?" he demanded.

"As sure as I'll ever be. Give me your hand."

He took Claude's hand and placed it over the bump.

"Feel that? It's too small to be a gas bubble," the doctor said, "I'd say she's nearly two months along. The sickness will lessen soon, but she'll have to be careful in the mean time not to lose any weight. At around four months, she'll be able to feel it move."

A smile slowly spread across Esmeralda's pallid face.

"I'll send the midwife tomorrow," the doctor told them, "she can tell you everything you'll need to know. In the meantime…"

He told her which things were safe to take for the sickness and what she should eat to help the baby grow. After he left, Claude still had not said another word.

"Claude…you're so quiet," Esmeralda commented, "don't you want it?"

He stroked her forehead.

"Of course I want it," he whispered, voice trembling with emotion, "I just never thought…"

He trailed off when he got choked up. Esmeralda raised up and kissed his cheek where a single joyous tear came to rest.

"Mine…ours…God…"

He was so overcome that he could only sputter. She understood, though, and squeezed him tightly. When he could speak again, his voice was thick and heavy.

"When you and I stood at the altar," he choked out, "I never thought it would get better than that…each day, I find myself finding something else to be grateful about, to be happy for. But this…Even in my wildest dreams, I never thought I would conceive a child…"

The soft shine in his blue-green eyes was the most beautiful thing she'd ever seen.

"I love you, Claude Frollo."

She claimed his lips and he surrendered whole-heartedly. When they both finally came up for air, she asked:

"So…how do we tell the children?"

"Good question," he answered, "I thought we would tell them all when you felt better."

They chose an evening beside the fireplace when Esmeralda managed to hold her dinner down. No one commented on her sitting in Claude's lap. Jacques returned with Quasimodo and Jehan brought the children in.

"Are we in trouble for something?" Ginger asked nervously.

"Why? Have you done something?" Claude asked innocently.

"No!"

"Then you're not."

Ginger and Andrew breathed a sigh of relief.

"Just tell them, already!" Jehan snapped impatiently.

Claude gave him a Look.

"Patience, brother. I'm going to."

His hand grazed Esmeralda's belly.

"Andrew, Ginger, Quasimodo: would you like another brother or sister?"

They stared at each other, not knowing what to make of that question. Jacques was grinning from ear to ear. Jehan smacked his forehead, wishing Claude would just get on with it.

"Why? Did someone leave an orphan?" Andrew asked.

"No…Esmeralda is going to have a baby."

The room got noisy quickly after that. Jehan cackled like a witch, Quasimodo was jumping up and down, and Andrew and Ginger were both screaming.

Claude put two fingers in his mouth and whistled sharply. Everyone shut up.

"Now…" he said, smiling warmly, "a baby takes a lot of work. That means we're going to need a lot of help…."


	24. Chapter 24

A/N: Who likes awkward parenting moments? Raise your keyboards and mousse and review! LOL.

Esmeralda was surprised at just how fussy Claude could get with her. She was sure there were days that he wouldn't allow her to even walk if he could get away with it. Knowing that she wouldn't die, the vomiting spells got easier to deal with and she was getting better at predicting them. She also knew which foods were safe to eat and which ones would upset her stomach.

The children were asking all kinds of embarrassing questions, most of which Claude answered as vaguely as possible.

"Where do babies come from, anyway?" Andrew said one afternoon.

The look on Claude's face caused Esmeralda and Ginger to laugh hysterically.

"Well," he said, face reddening a little, "they come from God."

"But how does God bring them? And how come, if they come from God, did it end up in our mommy's tummy? Did she swallow it?"

Esmeralda now had tears leaking out of her eyes. God bless Andrew—she needed the laughs.

Claude squirmed uncomfortably.

"Oh…you just don't give up, do you?" he asked miserably.

"I'm only six, I haven't been around very long," Andrew remarked, "you know lots more than I do."

Claude couldn't help but chuckle a little. Was Andrew telling him he was _old_?

It was all innocent, he knew. He couldn't very well be cross with Andrew for wanting to know the truth.

"I'll tell you both when you get older," Claude said firmly, "for now, you should just enjoy being children."

"In other words, he doesn't want us to know right now," Ginger commented. The children went off to play, sighing in defeat.

"Why couldn't we tell them?" Esmeralda asked, "And just leave out the…uh…more intimate bits?"

"I only just now figured it out," Claude joked, "do you really want me trying to tell them?"

"They'll find out someday," Esmeralda reminded him.

"Yes…but hopefully I'll be better prepared for it," Claude said. She realized how red he had gotten in the face and started laughing again.

Meanwhile, the children had gone out to the garden. Jehan was gathering the first ripe vegetables. He was looking a little ridiculous with that floppy, holey straw hat. They laughed when they saw that, and the smudge of dirt on his cheek.

"Come to help me with the garden?" Jehan asked.

"Uncle Jehan, where do babies come from?" Ginger asked.

Jehan stared in surprise.

"My! That's a loaded question, isn't it?"

"We asked Father Claude and he wouldn't tell us," Andrew lamented.

Jehan let out a hearty laugh.

"Ah…that sounds like Claude, all right. I tell you what: you help me out with this garden and I'll tell you. But you can't tell anyone that I told you, all right?"

"All right."

"You can start by pulling some of these weeds."

Both Ginger and Andrew got to work.

"Before you get a baby, there's a few things you need first," Jehan said, pausing to wipe the sweat from his brow, "you need a man and a woman and they have to have certain feelings towards each other. Ideally, that would be love."

"Father Claude and Mother Esmeralda love each other very much," Ginger commented thoughtfully, "that's why he got so sick when she left. He missed her."

"Yes…they love each other so much that they can't bear to be away from each other for long," Jehan said, "that's the most important part. Parents that love each other that much will also have plenty of love to go around to their children."

"What else?" Ginger asked.

"Well, preferably, they're married," Jehan said, "or at least, that's what Claude wanted. Being married means you can live with the other person and sleep in the same bed and share everything with them. Ideally, that includes your soul. There's a marvelous thing that happens when a man's soul and a woman's soul become one. It's like the wind; you can't see it, but you know it's there and you see its effects."

They had stopped pulling weeds and were now listening with rapt attention.

"The man and woman both carry seeds inside their bodies. They're inside of them so that they can keep them safe until the right time. Then, the man gives the woman one of his seeds when their souls become one."

"But if they both have seeds, how come there's not a baby inside Father Claude's belly?" Andrew asked.

Jehan chuckled.

"Well, they both have seeds, yes, but their bodies are made differently. Inside each woman, there's a special place to put the seeds so that they'll grow. The man's seed and the woman's seed fuse together and they become one thing: the baby. The woman keeps the baby safe inside her tummy until it's ready to come out."

Andrew looked confused.

"Father Claude says that babies come from God, though…"

"They do," Jehan said, "who do you think brings the man and the woman together in the first place? Who do you think gives them the seeds and tells them when it's time to put them together? Who do you think helps the baby grow?"

The children looked at each other, thoughtful.

"Uncle…do we have the seeds, too?"

Jehan wrestled a carrot out of the ground.

"Oh, yes…but neither of you will be ready to plant them for a very long time," he said, amused, "children still need people to take care of them…it wouldn't make sense for children to be giving birth. Think about how hard that would be!"

They went back to pulling weeds.

"I still have another question," Andrew said, "how do they plant the seeds?"

"They do that when their souls touch," Jehan said.

"How do they make their souls touch?"

"That's a secret."

"Why is it a secret?"

"You'll understand when you get older."

"Ugh! Everyone says that! What's the big deal?" Andrew said, frustrated.

Ginger giggled.

They finished helping Jehan, as promised, and carried the full vegetables back to the storage room. Then, they cleaned themselves up for dinner and did not ask anymore questions about babies.

"I want to see their souls touch," Ginger commented to Andrew that night, "come on…let's see if we can catch them doing it."

"But she's already got a baby growing," Andrew objected, "why would they need to make their souls go together again?"

"It must be a wonderful thing," Ginger said dreamily, "the way Uncle Jehan talks about it. I wonder if he's ever made _his_ soul touch someone else's."

"He probably has or he wouldn't know so much about it," Andrew said thoughtfully, "but why isn't there a woman or a baby?"

"Maybe it was the wrong time or the wrong woman," Ginger answered, "now, come on!"

"How do you know we're even going to see anything?" Andrew asked.

"I don't know, but it's better than not trying to find out and missing it!" Ginger said, dragging him down the stairs.

"We don't even know what they're supposed to do!" Andrew objected again.

"Just come on!"

They slipped into the hallway and avoided a sleepless monk who was pacing around there. Not having been caught, they continued on the way to Claude's room where Esmeralda now slept all the time.

Ever so quietly, Ginger opened the door and they both peered in through the crack.

There was a tub close to the hearth. Esmeralda and Claude were both in the tub, though the occasional splash of water would cause some to drip to the floor. They were positioned in such a manner that none of their intimate parts were exposed to the children. Oblivious to Andrew and Ginger, they looked very relaxed.

"They're both naked!" Ginger hissed into Andrew's ear. He nodded, indicating he could obviously see that.

"Are you starting to feel better? I noticed that you haven't been as sick today," Claude commented.

"Yes…only once, thank God," Esmeralda said, relieved, "the midwife says the sickness might even stop altogether soon, once my body is used to the baby."

Claude caressed the curved bump on her stomach as though it were made of glass.

"My goodness! Something moved!" he exclaimed.

Esmeralda smiled warmly.

"It's saying 'hello' to you," she answered.

Though it was difficult to bend much farther (the two of them in the large tub was a very tight fit), Claude kissed her belly tenderly. Then, his hand cupped her cheek and he kissed her _very_ passionately. Her arms wrapped around him tightly and his other arm wrapped around the small of her back. Ginger and Andrew stared at each other with wide eyes.

"I think that was it," she whispered into Andrew's ear, "I've _never_ seen them do that before!"

Claude and Esmeralda had kissed in front of them before, but it was nothing like what they witnessed now. The kiss was long and deeply loaded with passion. It was quiet enough that they could hear both of the adults' breaths quicken and become ragged. After a moment, they finally came up for air.

"I never thought it was possible to love you more than when I first saw you," Claude said breathlessly, "but each day, you prove me wrong."

Esmeralda wasn't sure if it was the pregnancy or the sheer sweetness of the moment, but emotional tears pricked at her eyes. Claude brushed them away with his thumb.

"I do believe it's going to be a chilly morning tomorrow," Esmeralda commented, "let's dry off and get under the covers!"

In truth, she just wanted to be able to hold him better. Ginger and Andrew left before Claude rose out of the water for fear he would turn around and see them. They hurried back up to the tower and hid under Ginger's covers.

"We saw it! We actually saw it!" Ginger said breathlessly, "they must touch souls when their mouths are open and stuck to each other!"

"But what about the seeds?" Andrew asked.

"Well, she's already got a baby! Maybe they can make their souls touch without putting another seed in," Ginger said, "and the baby must have known, too, if it moved! And…the baby is in her stomach…maybe the seed went from Father Claude's mouth to hers and down her throat! Maybe it started in his tummy, first and she swallowed it!"

"I just remembered something…" Andrew commented, "one of the Bible stories…the one about Adam and Eve, the first people. It said they were naked in front of each other and not ashamed. Maybe that's part of making the souls touch."

They eventually fell asleep, dreaming about babies and God and flower seeds being planted in a great big garden.


	25. Chapter 25

The baking heat of summer faded into the sweet coolness of fall. A massive thunderstorm poured over Paris, bringing precious cool air in its wake. A cradle for the baby had been made lovingly by Quasimodo. Ginger had learned how to sew and her (slightly crooked) quilt was folded up and lovingly draped over the edge of it. With Jacques's help and careful supervision, Andrew had carved a design into the side. Esmeralda stopped feeling ill at the sight or smell of food and felt better than she had in a long time. Claude insisted that she take it easy, but she argued!

"Claude, there will be plenty of time to lay around after the baby comes! I want to be up and about as long as I can," she told him. Claude mumbled something under his breath and she just laughed.

The children were happy about fall coming to Paris as well; it meant that they could play in the leaves in the garden. The world smelled of crisp fallen leaves and damp earth. There were evenings of spiced tea and stories by the fireplace and it was easier to sleep now that the bell tower wasn't so airless and stuffy. They had plenty of playtime and were excited about the baby, but Claude kept them to their lessons as well. They could now write well enough to use paper and ink.

"Father Claude, when is Christmas?" Ginger asked suddenly.

He looked up from the stack of papers he had to sign. It was hard enough to focus as it was, but reading them was much slower with the children in the office.

"Not for a while," he commented, "why do you ask?"

"I was just wondering if our brother or sister would be here by then," Ginger answered.

Claude examined the calendar and did a little mental math. Esmeralda had started being sick somewhere in the middle of February.

"It's possible," he answered, "it won't be very much longer."

"It's getting hard to sit on her lap!" Andrew commented. Claude bit back a laugh.

"Why do I get the feeling I'm being talked about?" Esmeralda said, poking her head in the door.

Claude just grinned.

She was wearing one of her newer dresses, a lovely shade of midnight blue with white trim. The front of it bulged out considerably; she was getting very round.

"They wanted to know when the baby would come," he said casually.

"I'm ready," Esmeralda sighed, "I feel as though I'd get around faster if I rolled rather than walked!"

Laughter filled the room.

"Will it be here by Christmas?" Ginger asked, though Claude had just told her.

"I certainly hope so," Esmeralda said, "if we're lucky, it'll be out well before Christmas. We need to start thinking of names."

Of course, that opened a whole new can of worms. The children were coming up with suggestions left and right. Some of them were quite good, some of them were just outlandish. Forgetting about their reading lesson entirely, they dashed off to ask others. Claude was getting ready to call them back when Esmeralda put her hand on his arm.

"Let them go," she said, smiling, "they'll only be children once."

"Yes…and thank Heaven for that," Claude muttered, "you wouldn't believe the outlandish story that Jehan told them!"

She moved to sit in his lap, but he shook his head.

"Just a moment."

He replaced the quill pen back into the inkwell and scrubbed all the ink away with a rag. Then, he held his arms out for her. She got herself situated with some difficulty (that belly was getting harder to work around!) and lay against his shoulder.

"Now, tell me," she said.

Claude recounted the previous evening when Esmeralda had gone to bed early. He went to round up the children and get them ready for bed when he accidentally heard them talking to Jehan. Ginger had said something about Esmeralda swallowing a seed and asked if it was possible if she had done it again. Jehan was in a hysterical fit of laughter while Ginger told him that she and Andrew had seen Claude and Esmeralda naked in the tub. After having seen him kiss her passionately, they were under the impression that their souls had touched. They all suddenly realized that Claude was standing there and clammed up immediately, but it was too late.

Esmeralda was laughing so hard that she was causing Claude to shake.

"You didn't scold them, did you?" she asked, wiping a tear from her eye.

"Of course not," Claude sighed, shaking his head, "I didn't have the heart to…but my face felt like it was on fire! Yet, I couldn't stop laughing…oh, to be a child again! I've forgotten what the world looks like through their eyes! If every couple that ever kissed had babies, the earth would be overrun with them by now!"

"I'll bet the look on their faces was priceless!" Esmeralda commented through continued peals of laughter.

"Bless their hearts…they're so innocent," Claude sighed, "I wish the whole world thought like them. Anyway, I just told them to get ready for bed and then I started on Jehan. His defense was that if he didn't say something to them, someone else might and they'd have gotten a very bad impression of it. I suppose I ought to be thankful…I suppose we'll have to be a bit more careful from now on."

"I think it's precious," Esmeralda said warmly, "and just think; they might not even know what real love is if you hadn't come along and saved them."

"I'm not even sure I'd have known…." Claude thought aloud.

"They did help us to come together, didn't they?"

He caressed her belly with his free hand; the other one was supporting her back.

"I've always been told that God works in mysterious ways," Claude answered, "but I always thought that was something we told others when they were feeling hopeless. I don't suppose I really understood the gravity of it until I lived it."

There were some priests that didn't believe that babies had souls until they were born or for some time afterward. As the tightly-stretched skin over Esmeralda's abdomen pulsed and wiggled, he found it hard to believe that anyone thought that. How could they think that something that moved this much wasn't alive? He imagined a tiny hand pressing back against his palm.

"So, what have you done today while I was trapped in this accursed office?" Claude asked her.

"Gabriel was feeling frisky and rambunctious, so I took him into the garden for some fresh air. Then I had to have Jacques help me chase him away from the flowers and vegetables," Esmeralda chuckled, "he's figured out how to dig…I don't think anyone else thought it was quite as amusing as the children and I did."

Claude smiled. Gabriel was now out of puppy-hood, but he didn't seem to know that. He still wasn't very big, but he was big enough that the children couldn't carry him as easily as they used to. Everyone else was growing up; he was just getting older. He hadn't realized he'd spoken that thought aloud until Esmeralda questioned him.

"What makes you say that?" she asked.

"I found a silver hair on the collar of my robes earlier," he lamented, "and since no one else has been wearing them, I could only come to the conclusion that it's mine."

"Look at it this way, then," Esmeralda said, running her fingers through his ash-blonde hair, "you are _also_ getting better, like carefully aged wine. Would you have traded any of this to keep from being older?"

"Of course not," he answered, leaning into her touch, "getting older doesn't appeal to me much, but I'm not afraid of it, either. I get to watch my—_our_ children grow up and to know that I'm leaving something valuable behind on this earth."

"That's a good way to look at it," she answered.

"And I'm looking forward to meeting this one," Claude said, giving her swollen tummy an affectionate pat.

"Maybe we'll have more than just one," Esmeralda said dreamily.

Claude went a little pale.

"Let's not get in too much of a hurry," he cautioned her, "I'm not due for the grave for a few more years at least! Let's take it one at a time, shall we?"

She laughed and he realized she'd said that on purpose just to rile him up.

"Let's go for a walk," she suggested, "maybe the fresh air will do you some good. I'd die of insanity if I were cooped up in this room all the time!"

Giving the neglected documents one last look, he swept out of the room with her, his cassock billowing with his steps as though it would suddenly sprout wings.


	26. Chapter 26

The winter cold wasn't far away. October passed quickly, followed rapidly by November. Esmeralda's baby dropped lower in her belly.

"That means it's almost ready to come out," she informed Claude, "it's turned upside down with its head towards the birth canal, or at least that's what most of them do."

She explained to them what the signs of labor were and what to do to ease any discomfort that Esmeralda might have. Claude blushed at some of it, but she merely patted him on the cheek and informed him that "they all have to learn sometime."

They waited.

And waited.

And waited.

Several days passed by in anxious waiting, but it remained in vain. The first hard freeze spread across Paris, coating everything in silvery-white furry frost. It was still late autumn, but the snow didn't know that. The first snow blanketed Paris overnight and Claude had to encourage the fire after rising for his late-night/early morning prayers. Esmeralda shivered under the covers.

"I'm so sorry," Claude apologized, "stay right there."

He tucked the covers in tightly around her where she was almost cocooned in like a caterpillar. Then, mumbling to himself, he roused the deep red embers in the fireplace. Eventually, he managed to get a full-fledged fire going. He wouldn't come back to bed until it was built up very well and roaring. The darkness and cold fled from the heat and light. He stood back to examine it for a moment, then turned to her, obviously satisfied.

"I'll be back in a moment…I should probably make sure the children's fire is going as well. It must be terribly cold in the tower…"

She nodded and he disappeared.

Shivering, Claude ran all the way up the stairs. As long as his blood was pumping, he knew he would stay warm from the exercise. He was careful, though, not to work up a sweat and risk getting a chill.

Jehan was already loading wood into the little wood stove. He beat his hands against his thighs, trying to get the circulation going into them again.

"Old winter's paid us an early visit, hasn't it? I can see my breath! God-"

Claude's stern look cut him off.

"Oh, don't tell me you haven't come close at times!" Jehan grumbled.

Quasimodo had heard the noise and come to investigate. The sun was just rising. He tugged at the sleeve of Claude's dressing gown and Claude reluctantly followed him. He desperately wanted to go back downstairs and cuddle up next to Esmeralda.

"Look, Master!"

The city spread out at their feet, all blanketed in snow. The sun made the snow shine different colors. It was truly, a grand sight.

But Claude would have preferred to see it when he was fully awake and not half-frozen.

"Go back to bed until it warms up," he instructed both Jehan and Quasimodo.

They did.

Claude hurried back down the stairs. He hoped he wasn't too icy to the touch for Esmeralda.

"Are you all right?" he asked her, concerned about the face she was making.

"I'm sure it's nothing," Esmeralda said, "I must have just lain wrong…my back feels a little sore."

"Can you turn on your side?"

She did. She sighed in pleasure when his gentle hands kneaded her back.

"Feel better?" he asked after a while.

"Yes."

He gently slid her into his arms. She breathed in his warm, clean scent. What a wonderful man…and to think he had once been considered the least likely of those she would love! She gazed into his blue eyes. Despite their color, they contained more warmth than even the fire.

He had been so patient…he never once showed frustration with her when she had been sick. The worst she'd gotten was a frustrated sigh when she was sick down the front of his robes once. He'd said nothing and gotten changed immediately. He'd put her own needs ahead of his own and she'd had to remind him to take care of himself, too. Even on days when he seemed surly or cross about something, he was very careful _never_ to direct it at her or any other undeserving parties. He was stroking her hair in such a way that she became drowsy and fell asleep again.

When she woke again, Claude was gone. His robes were missing from the chair, so she assumed he'd had to start work. She grunted when she realized that a searing pain in her abdomen was what had woken her up. It was warmer in the room now, so the cold didn't prevent her from getting up. She waited for the pain to pass, then tried to sit up. For some reason, it seemed to take too much effort. She fell back on the bed with a gasp.

"Jacques! Thank goodness!"

The young priest had just poked his head in the door.

"Claude sent me to check on you—are you all right?"

Seeing her face twisted in pain, he rushed to the side of the bed.

"I hurt….oh….get the midwife….please…"

"I'll be back in a moment," he said quickly, turning on his heel and dashing out of the room. She could hear him shouting for Claude all the way down the hall.

A few minutes later, Claude hurried into the room. He was red in the face, sweating, and breathing heavily from having run all the way up here.

"What is it? Is it the baby?" he gasped.

"I think so….AAH!"

She cried out as another wave of pain consumed her. It felt as though someone had stabbed a red-hot sword into her belly. Claude took her hand. Her fingers were slick with sweat.

"Jacques has gone to get the midwife," he told her, "is there anything I can do?"

"I don't know…" she gasped, tears flowing down her cheeks.

He was scared and so was she. He held onto her hands and started to pray feverishly. Her fingers tightened painfully around his and he was afraid she would actually break his hands before it was over with. He began to count in his head. Soon, the contractions were coming three minutes apart. She seemed more comfortable sitting up than lying down; he supported her upper body with his own. The gush of warmth surprised him. For her sake, he tried not to panic, but he knew nothing about babies being born.

The midwife burst through the door as he was trying to mop up some of the fluid.

"The waters must have broken already," she commented, "it won't be much longer now."

Seeing the puzzled look on Claude's face, she nearly smiled.

"The baby is encased in a bag inside of her," she told him, "the waters that surrounded it protected it. Now that it's coming out, it no longer needs the water."

He seemed relieved to know that this was _supposed_ to happen.

"If you would, just step outside, Your Worship," the midwife said calmly. She meant only to keep him from worrying, but this had the opposite effect.

"I am NOT leaving her," Claude said firmly.

"As you wish."

Who was she to question the archdeacon? She only hoped the experience didn't traumatize him too much.

Meanwhile….

"Jacques? What's happening? Is Esmeralda all right?" Ginger asked after having seen the entire cathedral go into an uproar.

"She'll be fine," Jacques said (more calmly than he felt), "she's having the baby today."

"Why won't they let us in?" Andrew asked.

"Having a baby is a very difficult thing to do, or so I've been told," Jacques explained, "but don't worry; Claude's in there with her and she has the midwife to help her. You'll probably see your brother or sister soon."

Jehan was grinning ear to ear.

"My brother, the monk, the priest…who knew?" he chuckled.

"Are you happy, Uncle Jehan?" Ginger asked.

"Well, of course I am! I think I was born to be an uncle," Jehan said, picking her up and swinging her around.

Quasimodo had also gotten wind of the new arrival coming today and was noisily ringing the bells. All of Paris would know of this! His master had helped create a life!

…

"I can feel the head now," the midwife told Claude, "it won't be much longer now."

She had been instructing Esmeralda to push for the last hour. They had positioned the poor gypsy in every position imaginable to try and help the baby come out faster. She was now sitting on her knees with them spread apart. Standing at the side of the bed, Claude supported her from behind with his arms around her. She was on one corner of the bed so that the midwife could reach her easily.

Unable to do anything about the intense pain she was suffering, Claude whispered to her, sang to her, and peppered her cheek in kisses. He could not make her stop hurting, but he could at least get her to think about something else. Her other senses seemed to be blotted out by the pain, but she held onto his voice.

"Esmeralda, you must push! The cord's wrapped around its neck! Come on, girl, your baby's life depends on you!"

_That_ woke her up.

Gathering the last of her strength, she bore down hard. Her entire body felt like it was being torn apart. She couldn't even cry out because she hurt so bad. Just when she thought she was going to faint, the pressure vanished.

"There!" the midwife announced triumphantly.

Esmeralda sagged backwards against Claude. She was vaguely aware of warm tears on her neck, of his frantic kisses, of the shaking of his body from his joyous sobs The thin, wailing cry of the infant added to all the chaos.

"Congratulations," the midwife said warmly, "you now have a daughter."

Esmeralda's senses began to reawaken. The first thing she could see through her blurred vision was the tiny pink body in the woman's arms. The sticky stuff was washed away and the cord was tied off and cut. The tiny thing was placed in her arms.

Then, the world seemed to stop turning for a moment. Esmeralda didn't even notice the midwife rubbing her belly to get her to expel the afterbirth. She was only vaguely aware of it being removed.

She already had a downy patch of dark hair, indicating that she would resemble Esmeralda somewhat when she got older. The midwife explained that many babies had blue eyes at birth, but they might change colors when the baby got older. Her little wrinkled face was all scrunched up as she wailed and wailed and wailed. She was, Esmeralda supposed, determined to announce her birth to the world.

The soiled bedding was gathered up and removed. Clean linens were brought in and Claude took the baby while the midwife helped Esmeralda get cleaned up and changed.

She smiled as she watched him kiss her little forehead and her little round nose and cheeks. Baptized in her father's tears, Esmeralda didn't doubt for one second that she would grow up fully swaddled in his love.

Claude could hear her little heart beating and it was the most precious music he had ever heard. His own pounding heart beat a rhythm to complement it.

"May I…show them?" he asked Esmeralda.

"Of course," she said warmly.

Claude took their baby out into the hallway.

"What did you do, Jacques? Squeeze everyone in this cathedral into this hallway?" he couldn't help but ask.

"There are some from the outside as well," Jacques announced sheepishly, "a few of the gypsies wanted to see their newest kin."

"Where are Andrew and Ginger?" Claude asked.

"Here we are, Father!" Andrew said, shoving his way through the crowd. Claude didn't have the heart to scold him about manners right now. Ginger was right behind him.

"I want to introduce you to someone," Claude said softly, "this is your new sister."

He turned the baby so that her face showed. Ginger squealed and Andrew almost yelled, but he clapped both hands over his mouth. He didn't want to scare the baby.

"She's tiny," Ginger commented, gently touching her cheek, "but she'll be big like me one day, won't she?"

"Yes, she will," Claude said warmly, "and you will have to help her learn how to be a young lady."

Ginger nodded solemnly.

"May I hold her?" she asked very politely.

"Later," he promised, "when the excitement dies down a little. She's had a very long day and a very hard journey."

"All right."

Ginger kissed the baby's cheek, then Andrew did. Jehan protectively urged the crowd back and told them they would have their turn eventually.

"Welcome to the light, little one," he said affectionately to the baby.

Jacques was allowed to hold her for a moment since he was partly responsible for her existence. He was honored and moved to tears when Claude informed him that he was to be her godfather.

"I won't let you down," he sighed happily, "_any_ of you. Now, take that baby back to her mother before Esmeralda forgets her!"

Claude smiled and gave Jacques a one-armed hug as he took the baby. In his "announcement" voice, he cleared his throat and the crowd was silent. Though the baby was not usually named in those times until it was sure to survive, he decided not to wait.

"In case any of you were wondering, her name is 'Celeste', which means 'Heaven'. Go in peace."

The crowd dispersed and the cathedral was quiet again (except for Quasimodo and his bells). They only stopped ringing when he came downstairs to see Celeste.

"Master made you," Quasimodo told Celeste, "and he will love you forever."


	27. Chapter 27

As promised, Ginger and Andrew got to hold Celeste the next day when everyone had gotten some rest. Claude had them both sit down on the bed first. He showed them how to support Celeste's head.

"You have to hold her head up," he explained, "she's so new to the world that she can't even lift her head yet. Eventually, she'll be able to do that herself."

"She's really warm," Andrew commented when it was his turn, "she's warmer than I am."

Celeste made a baby noise, making everyone captivated by her. She yawned, her little mouth making an oval-shape.

"I drew a picture of her," Andrew told Claude, "but it's not finished yet. I thought I would finish it after my lessons tomorrow."

"I look forward to seeing it," Claude said warmly, "your last one was quite good."

Andrew beamed.

Esmeralda had been a little bit concerned at first; she knew that Andrew very much wanted to be an artist. It was a hard and difficult life, but at almost seven, he was showing a lot of talent. She did not yet know what Claude would have to say on the subject since he was, in theory, head of the household. She meant to talk to him about it later, but she forgot. Celeste demanded a lot of attention and she was grateful that she hadn't borne twins.

Later that night, the baby was being quite fussy. Claude took her and began to walk around. Esmeralda had not even woken up; Claude was just grateful that Celeste wasn't hungry. He was getting familiar with her different cries and this one indicated that she wanted to be held. Careful to bundle her up against the chill of the cathedral, he paced the hallways. He didn't mind these late nights; he had often prowled these hallways by himself. The companionship gave him someone to talk to.

"What's your brother doing up at this hour?" he whispered to Celeste. She made a noise and he took that as a cue to investigate.

Andrew was sitting on one of the pews in the sanctuary. He had lit one of the candles and was staring at the statue of Mary. The candlelight flickered eerily and made Mary look more alive.

"Andrew, why aren't you in bed?" Claude asked.

"I was thinking," he answered.

Puzzled as to what a small boy might be troubled with at this hour, Claude joined him on the bench.

"About what?"

"Everything. Art, mostly. I like looking at all the paintings down here."

"At night? Isn't it easier to see them in the daytime?" Claude asked.

"They change at night," Andrew answered, "the colors don't look the same. I know that sounds silly, but they really don't."

"I don't think it's silly," he said, trying to keep a straight face. Oh, to think like a child again…even as an adult, it fascinated him at times how pictures could look different in different shades of light.

"Is there anything else on your mind?" Claude pressed.

Andrew was trying to choose his words carefully, Claude could see that.

_Uh-oh…_he thought, _whatever it is, it must have been going on for a long time._

"I want to be an artist when I grow up," Andrew finally admitted, "and paint pictures of Mary and Jesus and other people. I want to make a real painting that could hang in here for you and Mother…but some of the other boys that I play with said I'll have to be a priest because you're a priest."

Claude almost breathed a sigh of relief. He wanted to say _is that all?_ But he didn't.

"I thought you might get upset with me," Andrew said, suppressing a shudder, "I don't like it when you get upset."

Claude smiled.

"If that's really what you want to do, then do it," he told Andrew, "I knew plenty of priests that did more than just working in a church; some of our best paintings here were done by priests."

He pointed one out.

"That one was done by a monk," he said, "as was that one."

Andrew's eyes grew big.

"Really? I didn't know priests could paint."

"It's a little more complicated than that," Claude told him, "a person isn't just one thing. I run this cathedral, but I am also a father and a husband. I am a scholar because I still read books and learn things. I am a teacher because I've taught all of you to read and write. Imagine how boring life would be if I chose to limit myself to one thing…"

"I never thought about it that way," Andrew commented, "I'm not just a little brother, I'm a big brother, too! And a best friend!"

"And when you grow up, you'll be able to do many more things," Claude told him.

"I still want to be an artist," Andrew commented.

"You're still a little bit young," Claude told him, "we'll see what we can do about it when you're a bit older. There might be someone in town that's willing to apprentice you."

Andrew's dark eyes grew huge and round.

"Really? Wow!"

"On one condition," Claude said, pulling the "stern-father" tone, "I want the first painting you finish by yourself. That way, I can hang it up and tell everyone that my son did it."

Andrew forgot himself and let out an excited yell. Celeste squirmed and keened, but Andrew settled down quickly and placed his hand on her back.

"Sorry, Celeste, I really am, please don't cry!" he begged her.

Esmeralda was standing concealed in the shadows. She decided to make an appearance.

"I thought you were asleep," Claude commented.

"I missed my baby," Esmeralda commented, "and my Claude."

Claude's heart melted at hearing her say his name. Despite being married to her now, it still gave him a warm, sweet feeling.

Andrew yawned.

"Little boys need to be in bed," Esmeralda commented.

"All right."

He kissed them all good night and skipped away.

"I suppose there's no point in asking what you've heard," Claude commented. Esmeralda held out her arms for Celeste. Once Celeste was situated, she slipped into Claude's lap and rested her head on his shoulder.

"I heard all of it. You aren't disappointed?"

"Of course not! He's quite good at drawing," Claude said, "I want to give him the chance to explore that. I was groomed for the priesthood from birth. Being an artist will be hard work, but if that's his passion, then he should do it. God has given him a remarkable gift."

"You never told me about the expectancy to be a priest," Esmeralda commented.

Claude was silent for a moment.

"Do you remember the scars across my back? Do you know why I was beaten?" he asked her.

"No," she admitted, "you only said that your father was usually drunk when he did it."

"He did it while sober plenty of times as well," Claude sighed, "usually when I forgot my lessons or didn't do as well as he expected me to. Fleeing to a monastery was more than just survival; it was a way of appeasing my guilt. I had still done exactly what I was told. It's a pity that our father is dead…he might have been more pleasant with the knowledge that he had a granddaughter."

"It is a shame," Esmeralda agreed.

A companionable silence fell over them for a moment.

"What about Ginger?" Esmeralda asked suddenly, "she won't be a child much longer."

Claude's belly clenched. He didn't want to think about that. He still saw Ginger as a little girl.

"We have a few years yet," he said casually.

"Yes, but I'm just curious as to what you think," Esmeralda said.

"I want her to decide," Claude said, "it wouldn't be fair to give Andrew a choice and not offer the same to her."

"She likes to write and tell stories," Esmeralda said, "she tells the younger children who visit here all sorts of stories while the adults do confession or pray."

"She might make a good teacher," Claude thought out loud, "but we'll ask just the same. And we're not talking about Celeste right now…I don't think I could bear it."

Esmeralda laughed.

"As soon as I got used to them being _my_ children, they decided to grow up," Claude mumbled.

"You've turned into a good father," she told him, "if I hadn't known you beforehand, I'd have never guessed you were the same person."

"I'm going to assume that was a compliment."

He kissed her very chastely at first, but the kiss began to slowly heat up. They pulled apart before things got too carried away. The midwife said it would be at least three months before they should try to make love again. At first, both of them had been a little disappointed with the news, but they knew it would be even better once the time came again. Besides, Celeste was worth the wait in his opinion.

"I'm going to have to keep a very close eye on this one," Claude said, looking down at Celeste's face.

"Why?" Esmeralda couldn't help asking.

"If she turns out anywhere nearly as beautiful as you are, we're going to have trouble," he said with a grin.

"Let's put that candle out and go upstairs," Esmeralda said, "it's too chilly down here."

He agreed and snuffed out the candle. They ascended the staircase together.

Outside, the velvet sky was filled with silver, glittering stars. Snow blanketed the city, now snug for the night. Christmas was quickly approaching and Claude knew he couldn't ask for anything. He had all he wanted and needed right here with him. Before he joined Esmeralda in bed, he knelt down and thanked God for everything. He had gone from a solitary, miserable man to someone who had a family and felt like he belonged. He had learned what ordinary miracles were and that today was called "the present" because each today held a gift of its own.

He blew out the candle and watched the tendrils of smoke rising into the air as he settled in next to Esmeralda. She lay her head on his chest and listened to the music of his heartbeat. There was not a doubt in her mind that God existed now because someone as loving as Claude was could not exist without Him.

Claude's breath became slow and even and she felt his consciousness float away. Perhaps he dreamed of Heaven, perhaps he dreamed of the future. She was too content and warm to go to sleep for the moment. The hazy, sweet happiness cloaked her like a second skin. She had come to love this man for all the perfection and for all the flaws alike that he had. In the cradle next to her lay the perfect fusion of the two of them. She let the sleepiness take over her at last and wondered if this was how the Garden of Eden had felt to Adam and Eve.

A/N: So…decision time for you guys! Should I keep writing or should I let this be the ending? I can't decide. Please leave answers in reviews!


	28. Chapter 28

Author's Note:

Hey, guys! I am considering a sequel to this story. I was wondering if the rest of you were game for one: PM or review right here and tell me what you'd like to see happen to Claude, Esmeralda, Jacques, Jehan, Quasimodo, and the kids!

Peace,

Sybl.


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